


Greased Lightning

by Exdraghunt



Category: Starlight Express - Phillips/Stilgoe/Webber
Genre: Lactation Kink, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Robot Sex, mechanical humanoids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-06-04 23:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 75,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6679309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exdraghunt/pseuds/Exdraghunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been almost six months since that fateful final race, when Steam become victorious and Electric slunk away in defeat. Electra has had no reason to return, until he finds out that he may have left a little something behind. And Greaseball is not happy about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word about this AU: Here, I will be treating the characters as mechanical-humanoids. They have the bodies of real-life rolling stock for working on the rails, but can also change into more robotic-bodies for ease of navigating the yards/relaxing.
> 
> Yes, there's gonna be sex. I'm borrowing some terms from the Transformers fandom here (ex. spike, valve) since robots. hopefully, it'll be fairly clear whats what.

It was supposed to be a friendly drink. A little bit of fun the night before the big finale race. But as the high-grade oil flowed, things got a little more . . . amorous. 

Electra was only a little more sober than his partner as he thrust his hips against the luscious, black ass he had been lusting after for days. Under him a powerful diesel engine rumbled loudly, sending vibrating pleasure through both bodies. Electra usually refrained from being intimate with lowly internal combustion engines, finding the locomotives dirty and uncouth, but they were also turning out to be like living vibrators. Maybe he should try this more often. 

Reaching his hand down, Electra smirked as he found an open valve dripping with clear lubricant waiting for him. “You’re so wet already, are you really that eager for me?”

“Nnng, just do it already!” The diesel under him moaned. 

Well, how could he deny an order like that? Electra folded away his codpiece, releasing a smooth, silver spike that pressurized quickly in the heated air heavy with diesel exhaust. Taking a moment to line up properly, Electra slide slowly into that tight, wet valve. Clearly, this was a diesel that didn’t bottom very often because this was perhaps the tightest valve Electra had ever encountered. The electric engine couldn’t help but groan in pleasure as he seated himself fully in his partner. Little electric charges zapped between the two, making the diesel buck his hips in surprise. 

“Never been with an electric before, have you?” Electra whispered into the other’s ear. “Well, let me show you why we are the future.”

He reached a hand around his partner, gripping the diesel’s short, but fat spike in one hand. It had ridges and nobs, and Electra thought that if his partner was up for another go round he might give the diesel a chance at topping just to feel that thick, textured spike inside him.  
First, though, he had to finish the job he’d started. 

Electra drew back, sliding his spike out of his partner’s valve until just the tip remained inside. The diesel whined from the loss, but didn’t have long to mourn it when Electra suddenly thrust his hips and slammed himself back into his partner. The diesel howled in pleasure, Electra just barely refraining from doing the same. He had a reputation to protect, after all. 

Even as he thrust, Electra continued stimulating the diesel’s spike with his other hand. That big, powerful engine reached a new pitch as it roared loudly, signaling an approach to overload, when-

NOTICE: INCOMING COMMUNICATION. CB (RED CABOOSE) CALLING. .. 

Electra snarled and abruptly cut off the memory file. Though it had been over five months since that fateful final race, when he had lost to a steamer (a steamer!) of all things, Electra still sometimes found himself replaying that delicious memory file from the night before the race. It had possibly been one of the best fucks of his life, almost worth going back to that dingy little trainyard for. Almost. 

The question now was, why was someone from that shitty, dirty yard calling him? Especially that traitorous, crazy caboose. 

He wouldn’t learn anything if he denied the call. With a sigh, Electra accepted. 

“Electra! Thank god!” The youthful voice of CB came through loud and clear. In the background of the call, there was some kind of indistinct, angry yelling accompanied by loud bangs. 

“What is it?” Electra asked with a bored tone. Wouldn’t do to seem too interested or invested. 

“You’ve got to get back here! Now! Whoa!” CB yelped, panting as though he were skating a marathon. More angered yelling in the background. 

“And why in the world would I come back to that little shithole you call a trainyard?” True, Electra was curious about what in the world was going on back there, but he couldn’t just go crawling back after his vow to never come back after the race. 

“It’s Greaseball!” The call was suddenly interrupted by the crunch of gravel ballast, as though CB had fallen to the ground. “Whoa, there, GB. Maybe we can work something out? Dinah!” The call suddenly cut out, line going dead. 

Electra leaned back in his seat, a contemplative frown pursing his perfectly-done lips. Curiosity was beginning to overcome pride. Clearly, something was going on and they desperately needed his help. Making a decision, Electra got to his wheels and rolled off to find his components. It was time to head back to the Apollo-Victoria trainyard of the AL&W railway. But not too quickly. They could do to wait for another week or two, Electra didn’t want to seem –too- curious.


	2. Chapter 2

Greaseball was not a happy engine. It had all started about a month after the big race. That’s how long it had taken for the locomotive works to repair the damage done to the diesel after the wreck at the end of the race. He rolled back into the AV trainyard feeling stiff and sore, but at least all the dings and dents had been hammered out. Not that there was much point in it, after being caught cheating Greaseball had been banned from all passenger duties for the next year. The diesel grumbled at the thought of being forced to pull freight only, but knew that he at least hadn’t come off as bad as CB. The caboose had been banned from trains altogether, and was sitting on a siding with his communications suite still damaged. Other rolling stock had to yell just so he could hear them. 

At least Dinah was there waiting for him as Greaseball returned to the train yard. Things weren’t perfect between the two, but they had both agreed to at least give their relationship another try. The diesel had promised not to be such an asshole, and to listen to his partner, and hoped that things would just go back to the way they had been. 

No such luck. Greaseball hadn’t been working more than a week when he started feeling sick. A queasy, unpleasant roiling in his fuel tank that sometimes had him puking up his fuel rations for the day. Such things were normally blamed on a bad fuel shipment, impurities in the diesel, but even after Greaseball made a stink about it things didn’t improve. And after a few weeks, Greaseball couldn’t help but notice that none of the other diesels on the railway were getting sick. Just him. 

“Damn engine shop must’ve fucked up my fueling system.” Greaseball complained one evening to Dinah. He was too tired to even bitch properly, exhaustion hanging heavy over his shoulders as he sat on his berth in the shed. 

“Maybe you should go back and see them.” Dinah suggested, rubbing his shoulders helpfully. 

Greaseball grimaced. He hated visiting the locomotive works. There was always a backlog of engines waiting to be seen, meaning that it could take days just to be looked over much less repaired. It wasn’t unusual for a diesel to have a sensitive fuel system after heavy repairs, usually an engine’s body could sort it out on its own. “I’m fine, baby. Give it a few more days and I’ll be back to normal and rarin’ to go.”

“If you say so, Greasy.” Dinah moved her hands around to his front and started massaging lower. “If you are feeling better, maybe we could. . .” They hadn’t had sex since Greaseball had returned from the shop, and the dining car was very eager to get back to that part of their relationship. 

“Not tonight.” Greaseball groaned. He normally never turned down a romp in the berth, but between pulling freight cars all day long and getting sick he just didn’t feel like it. Plus, he knew Dinah loved to bottom and, well. Lately Greaseball had no desire to use his spike. Sometimes he found himself dreaming about a certain electric, with his long, brilliant spike, before banishing the thoughts. 

“What, am I not pretty enough anymore?” Dinah demanded, getting frustrated with the lack of response she’d been getting the last few weeks. 

“Dinah, give it up! I don’t feel like it.” Greaseball growled, engine rumbling a threatening note. 

The dining car huffed and leaned back, the mood of the moment gone. The pair didn’t sleep easy that night in the shed. 

 

Another few weeks and the odd fuel insensitivity that had afflicted Greaseball began to fade, as he knew it would. It had stuck around longer than was normal, a little over two months as opposed to a week or two, but at least he didn’t feel like purging up his tanks in the morning. 

However, a different problem began to make itself known soon enough. And this one was a little less easy to explain away. The heavy metal plating around Greaseball’s abdomen began to feel tight and sore, as though it was too small for his body. The diesel didn’t like this at all. Besides the fact that it made bending and moving very uncomfortable, Greaseball was very proud of his body shape. Strong, sleek, sexy. The fact that his abdominal plating was beginning to bow out a bit, distorted by the press of his softer bits underneath, was not acceptable. 

Dinah hadn’t said anything yet, but everyone in the train yard had certainly noticed the new development. Rusty had already made a few off-color comments, confident enough from his big victory in the races to say such things to Greaseball’s face. The diesel had promised to not antagonize the steamer as he used to, though, and let the comments slide. 

Freight cars, however, had no qualms at all about teasing the big diesel engine pulling them. Fat jokes abounded all day as Greaseball gritted his teeth and bore it, reminding himself that Control would not be happy with him at all if he deliberately derailed a train. The Rocky boxcars were also tough customers, more than capable of standing up to an engine, and defended the other freight cars fiercely. 

Even the gang, freight and shunting diesels that worked for the railway and obeyed Greaseball’s direction, were getting concerned about their leader. 

“Uh, Greaseball?” Gook, one of the young diesels, looked to the older engine with concern one evening after finishing the day’s runs. “Are you doing alright?”

“I’m fine!” Greaseball insisted. He had one arm wrapped around his torso, trying futilely to shield the distortion of his abdominal plating from view. 

“But boss-“

“Just leave it!” The big diesel pushed himself to his wheels and rolled off. Maybe he would go find Dinah, at least she didn’t sit and fuss over some little insignificant issue. 

Of course, that meant finding the dining car. Passenger runs were done, but she wasn’t relaxing with the other coaches in the coach shed. Nor was she back at Greaseball’s unit in the diesel shed. The only other person she’d been spending time with was CB, apparently feeling sorry for the sidelined caboose. Greaseball was still fairly irritated with CB for causing the wreck that had damaged him and presumably caused whatever weirdness that was going on now, but figured it couldn’t hurt to ask. 

“Hey, caboose!” Greaseball hollered as he entered the freight yard. There was no response. He tried again, louder. “CABOOSE.”

“WHAT?!” The voice came from an old siding, where Greaseball finally found CB sitting against an old brick wall. Unfortunately, no dining car in sight. 

“Have you seen Dinah?” Greaseball rolled closer, hoping that maybe she had come and gone. 

CB only shook his head, holding a hand to his ear. 

“I said: HAVE YOU SEEN DINAH?” Greaseball yelled, remembering the other reason why he didn’t come to visit the caboose. 

That got a smile and a nod, CB excitedly moving his arms and hands around in some kind of gestural, silent language. One that Greaseball did not have the patience to sit and try to translate. Finally, realizing that the diesel had no idea what he was saying, CB rolled his eyes and tried his voice. “YES. SHE’S JUST GETTING A DRINK.”

It was then that Dinah rolled in, a can of bearing oil in her hand and a smile on her face. She seemed a little surprised to see Greaseball there, coming up to the diesel to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Hi, Greasy. Did you need something?”

Did he need a reason to come and see his girlfriend? Greaseball frowned. “I’m finished for the day, and know you are too. I thought we could go back to the shed.”

“Oh, maybe in a little while. I was just spending a little time with CB.” Dinah set down her drink and signed something to the caboose. CB signed back and soon the two were off, giggling and smiling over some conversation that Greaseball couldn’t understand. The diesel huffed in frustration and headed back to his shed alone. Dinah didn’t return that night. 

 

Finally, after days of jokes and concerned remarks, Greaseball reported to the repair shed in the train yard. Though large repair jobs were outsourced to larger locomotive works, routine maintenance and minor work could be done in house. Fortunately, that also usually promised a faster turn-around time.

The human foreman gave Greaseball a critical look over as he entered the shed before gesturing the engine over to the repair pit. Reluctantly the diesel shifted, going from a mechanical, humanoid form to the shape of a sleek, streamlined EMD E6 locomotive, and rolled over the pit so he could be examined. The discomfort he felt was not eased in this body either, that tight, hot sensation settling deep in his frame. 

It took more than an hour for the human repair team to be satisfied with their examination of his locomotive form, allowing him to shift back to his mech body to be looked over again. Another hour of laying on a slab and being poked and prodded by humans. 

Things got a little more concerning when the repair crew broke out the power tools, removing the thick metal plating of his abdomen. Under the heavy exterior plates, his internals were protected by a more rubbery, flexible barrier layer. A barrier that was distended and bulging outward in a round curve. No wonder his middle had felt so tight and uncomfortable, if his internals had been pressing out against the outer plating. 

Finally, the foreman gave his diagnoses. 

“Your reproductive systems are active.”

Greaseball blinked, unsure if he had heard the human correctly. “What did you say?”

“You’re pregnant, you silly engine.” The works foreman tsk’d, muttering about big, dumb diesels and their lack of common sense. “Four months along or so. You should’ve come to us as soon as you noticed the symptoms, it’s not healthy to leave your outer plates on once the gestation chamber has begun to distend. You won’t be getting those plates back for some months.”

Pregnant. Greaseball stared down at his rounded abdomen, wondering just how he could be so unlucky. It couldn’t be Dinah’s, the two hadn’t been intimate in months and the dining car never topped anyways. So who-?

Greaseball suddenly recalled the night before the big race. He’d been quite drunk, but remembered enough to know that he and Electra had gone on for several rounds, trading who was on top and who was on bottom. This, clearly, was the result of that little adventure. It was obvious that the Starlight Express wasn’t just satisfied at making him lose to steam, the diety had decided Greaseball still deserved punishment.

“Control will probably have some words for you.” The works foreman took advantage of the diesel’s shocked silence to impart a few instructions. “Until then, no train pulling. Shunting only. Intake only high-quality diesel, keep up with your oiling routine. You’ll probably want start ingesting some good metal scraps. As the kits start really building their bodies in earnest, they’ll be needing metal to do it.”

It was a lot of information, but one thing got through to Greaseball loud and clear. “Wait, no train pulling? I’m no shunter.”

The human was not impressed by the diesel’s declaration. “Well, for the next five months you are. And you won’t be able to shift into your locomotive form in another few weeks anyway, there isn’t enough room in there for the kits once they get a little bigger.”

Unhappy and still in shock, Greaseball was allowed to leave the repair shed to head back to his own roundhouse. The lack of abdominal plates meant that now his growing belly was hanging out for all to see, the whispers and stares of the other rolling stock following him as he made his way across the yard. 

It was Poppa McCoy who rolled up to clap a hand on Greaseball’s shoulder. “Congratulations.” The old steamer said with an infuriating smile, clearly knowing just what the removal of outer plating meant for an engine. Greaseball couldn’t come up with the energy to snarl or say anything rude, so he just shrugged off the older engine’s hand and continued on. Soon enough, he suspected, the entire trainyard would know about his. . . condition. 

 

Back at his shed, Greaseball was never more grateful that his stall was a completely separate space from the rest of the roundhouse. It meant he wouldn’t be bothered by the gang, who communally shared the rest of the shed. 

Entering his stall, Greaseball was a little surprised to see Dinah there waiting for him. The dining car stood, looking at her boyfriend with concern as he approached the berth. Eyes drawn down to the bulge of his midsection, a confused look spreading across her face. 

“So, how did it go?” Dinah asked, coming closer. “Are you alright? What did they find out?”

“I’m fine.” Greaseball couldn’t help but draw back as she approached. “I want to be alone.”

“Greasy?” Dinah didn’t like being asked to leave, especially when it was clear that something was really bothering the diesel.

“Out.” Greaseball held open the door of the shed until Dinah had reluctantly slunk out, before shutting it and locking it tight. Now completely alone, (except, of course for the growing kits inside him. He wouldn’t really ever be alone for the next five months) Greaseball was able to collapse on his berth and really think about the mess he’d gotten into. One hand made its way down to his belly, feeling the warmth that radiated from there. The warmth of little, developing kits. Oh Starlight, what was he going to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be clear: Kits is the diesel term for offspring. And yes, diesels typically have litters of more than one.


	3. Chapter 3

The news of Greaseball being pregnant did indeed spread quickly to every shed and siding in the trainyard. The next morning, the diesel awoke to a hard pounding on the door to his shed. With a tired groan, Greaseball pushed himself up off the berth and rolled over to the door. With the restrictive cover plating removed, the mass of his gestation chamber had moved a little lower and more forward. It wasn’t easy to bend in the middle, and his balance was thrown off a bit by the weight resting in his abdomen. A reminder that the nightmare of the day before had been all too real. 

Opening the door to the shed, Greaseball found himself facing a dining car that was much angrier than she had been the night before. 

“Is it true?” Dinah demanded, pushing her way into the shed and closing the door behind her. She boldly approached the big diesel and placed a hand on his bulging belly. “You’re really pregnant?”

Greaseball growled, instinctively batting her hand away to defend his growing kits, but Dinah was undeterred. Well, there wasn’t any point in trying to lie. It would only be more obvious as time went on. “Yes. I am.”

“Well, I know I’ve never topped you.” Dinah crossed her arms over her chest, still not sure what to make of this development. They had never discussed kids in their time together, but the dining car had always assumed that if she ever did have children she’d be the one carrying them. And now, Greaseball had gone off and fucked somebody else that wasn’t her. “Who was it?”

It was very tempting to just tell Dinah it was none of her business, but she was his girlfriend. And Greaseball had promised to respect her more. With a great sigh, the diesel sank back down onto his berth and put his head in his hands. “It was that fancy electric engine, all right? The night before the race.”

“You let Electra fuck you?” Dinah asked incredulously. Honestly, she probably should’ve expected it. The electric engine was probably the only one with an ego big enough to clash with Greaseball’s and win. 

“Hey now, we weren’t together at the time.” Greaseball defended. 

“Because you dumped me!” Dinah was still pretty sore over that. Shaking her head, she worked to calm herself down before sitting next to her boyfriend. “So what’re you going to do?”

Greaseball shrugged. “Have them, I guess. Train ‘em up. Like the gang.” The other diesels he led were all of the same litter, separated from their home railway and brought to the AV at a young age. He wasn’t really their parent, more like a big brother or something, but they were still an awkward sort of family. 

“Your ‘gang’ were young adults when you met them.” Dinah reminded. “These will be infants. Helpless.”

“I know that!” Did she think he was stupid and didn’t know what newborn kits were like? They were tiny, wriggly creatures totally dependent on their parents. Small, soft, . . . and incredibly adorable. Greaseball groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. The choice to get rid of them had always been there, to have the undeveloped kits removed, but now Greaseball knew there was no way he could go through with it. Nope, he was gonna be seeing this one out to the end. 

Silently, Dinah sat and watched a myriad of emotions flit over Greaseball’s face. It was the most vulnerable she’d ever seen the diesel, and to be honest it was a little uncomfortable to watch. 

In the months since the race, Dinah had been re-evaluating her relationship with Greaseball. It had been tough to admit to herself that the main reason she had hooked up with him in the first place was for the popularity. At that time, Greaseball had been an up-and-coming racer who was making big waves in the train racing world. Dinah had raced with him when he won his first championship, and the excitement had been infectious. Being the girlfriend of the most popular, champion racer was quite the rush. Of course, the big diesel was also very nice to look at, and very good in the berth. Dinah had loved being able to push the other coaches away from her man, claiming him all for herself. 

They’d always been so busy, between regular train duties and racing, that there had never been a chance to consider how the two would work domestically. How to spend time together without a race to practice for, or a passenger train to pull. And if Dinah was honest with herself, she didn’t think it was going well. Still, she wasn’t about to sit down and attempt to have a serious conversation about their relationship the day after Greaseball found out he was pregnant. Instead, Dinah just put an arm around his shoulders and tried to just be a comforting presence if he wanted it. 

 

After a little while of sitting on his berth feeling sorry for himself, Greaseball reluctantly reported to the shunting yard for work. Control was waiting for him, there to give the diesel some stern instructions for the next few months. It was just as Greaseball had feared. Shunting only, no train pulling, no leaving the yard. He wasn’t to do any racing, high speed running, or anything at all stressful. In short, he was consigned to utter and complete boredom. 

Whispers and stares followed Greaseball as he rolled into the yard. Everyone had heard about the pregnancy, yes, but they all wanted to see the evidence for themselves. The coaches all came to give him sincere congratulations, which Greaseball returned with shrugs and embarrassed mutters. He liked being the center of attention, but not for reasons like this. Laughs and teasing jokes from the freight cars were easier to deal with, rude gestures and growled threats coming easily to Greaseball after years of racing. 

Greaseball’s gang gave their leader his space, working quietly at their freight and shunting duties, and for that the big diesel was grateful. He was less happy when, halfway through the day, Rusty rolled into the yard and uncoupled from the coaches to approach Greaseball. 

“What do you want, steamer?” Greaseball grumbled, assuming that Rusty was here to make some funny comment. Rusty wasn’t smiling, though. He actually looked contrite. 

“I just wanted to apologize.” Rusty rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “You know, for that stuff I said last week. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were pregnant.”

“Poppa put you up to this?” Greaseball asked with a raised eyebrow. He had to admit the steamer was a good kid, but doubted he’d come up with this one all by himself.

Rusty flushed, steam hissing from his joints in embarrassment. “Maybe. Still, I shouldn’t have said rude things to you.”

Starlight, he couldn’t deal with the innocent good-boy routine. Even though Greaseball knew it wasn’t an act the steamer put on, he just actually was that goody-goody. The diesel sighed. “Whatever. I didn’t know I was knocked up either. So just. .. forget about it. Alright?”

“Oh, um. Okay.” Rusty wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with this Greaseball, one that was rather subdued compared to the purely antagonistic relationship the two engines had shared before. “I guess, congratulations then. I think it’s nice, yannow. You and Dinah having kids.”

“They aren’t Dinah’s.” Greaseball commented without thinking. After a moment to process what he just said, the diesel cringed. There he went, opening his big mouth. If he hadn’t said anything, the yard would’ve just assumed that the kits were Dinah’s and everything would’ve been great. Too late now. 

A look of confusion came over Rusty’s face. “Wait, what? Then who-“

“None of your business.” Greaseball’s engine growled a threatening note before the diesel turned and skated away. 

 

Across the yard, Dinah had a break from her passenger train duties and used the opportunity to visit CB. She wanted someone to sit and talk with about the current situation, and the caboose was the only one she could think of that might give an honest opinion. Though the rest of the coaches were very nice, they didn’t exactly give good advice. Dinah also knew they were all still rather enamored with Greaseball’s good looks and probably wouldn’t understand why the dining car was considering leaving him. 

“HI CB!” Dinah made sure to announce herself loudly as she approached the old siding where CB was sitting. Though the caboose was still capable of visiting the rest of the trainyard, even while banned from trains, he had chosen to stay away until he was repaired. It got really old having to ask people to repeat themselves over and over again. 

‘Hello, Dinah!’ CB signed back to the dining car, grateful that at least one person in the yard knew sign language. And, just his luck, Dinah happened to be the prettiest car around. ‘I’m going to the shop to be repaired tomorrow. Control said he might lift my ban early.’ 

‘That’s great!’ Dinah responded, a little slower. She still wasn’t totally confident in sign, having not used it in years. Not since the deaf cook that had worked for the railway had retired. ‘You’ll be able to hear again?’

‘Yes! You’ll still visit, though. Right?’

‘Of course.’ Dinah really did like coming to see CB. She still remembered the way the caboose had been there for her after she was dumped by Greaseball, the way he had promised to always be there if she needed him. ‘Did you hear about Greaseball?’

CB laughed and pointed at his ears. He didn’t hear much of anything these days. Dinah rolled her eyes. 

‘Greaseball is pregnant.’ Dinah explained slowly. ‘He and Electra. Before the race.’ She didn’t have the vocabulary to elaborate further, but fortunately CB understood. And wasn’t surprised one bit. He’d known that the two racers had gotten funky before the race, and that this had resulted was just icing on the cake. 

CB wanted to grin gleefully at the thought of the chaos that would probably result from all this, but managed to refrain from doing so in front of Dinah. Instead, he arranged his face into an expression of concern. ‘And you?’

‘I don’t know.’ Dinah admitted. ‘Greaseball is big. And strong. And handsome. But we don’t race now. Don’t have sex. Just argue. Maybe we should break up.’

Now that really would make his day, if Greaseball and Dinah broke up for good. CB kept up the sympathetic friend look, but inside he was laughing. ‘Greaseball doesn’t know what’s good for him. You two race well, but does he really care about you?’

Dinah honestly didn’t know the answer to that one. 

 

Greaseball and Dinah managed to make it another week before the dining car had to admit to herself that things just weren’t working. 

More difficult was telling Greaseball that. Though he’d promised to be more considerate, he still had a possessive streak a mile wide. Greaseball didn’t like the idea of Dinah leaving him because, well, he didn’t want her going to anyone else. Even though he had to admit that things weren’t going so well between them. 

Eventually, Dinah left the diesel shed feeling a bit sad, but confident that she was leaving on good terms. She still cared for Greaseball, and didn’t wish him any ill will. But really, the two worked better as friends than partners. 

As Dinah went to the coach shed, Greaseball sat on his berth and wondered how his life had come to this. He’d lost his championship, his prestigious passenger train, and now his girlfriend. Single and pregnant. Greaseball rested a hand on his middle, which had grown a little larger over the last week, and felt his breath hitch when there was a little fluttering sensation from inside. The kits had started moving, reminding him that at least he wasn’t alone. 

 

One of the frustrating things about being pregnant was the unexpected bouts of horniness. Greaseball lay on his berth, heat growing in his body with no outlet. It had only been a few days since Dinah left, far too soon to see if the dining car would be open to a “friends with benefits” relationship, and Greaseball couldn’t think of anyone else in the yard he was willing to fuck considering his condition. 

Images sprung unbidden to Greaseball’s mind, of a flashy electric bent over him, filling him in a way he’d never been filled before, teasing and arrogant and amazing. Greaseball groaned as he reached down, his spike pressurizing almost immediately into his hand. The diesel tugged at his spike, biting his lip at the electric thrill that shot down through his hips and into his valve. Still, it wasn’t good enough. 

Using his other hand, Greaseball went down further to his dripping valve. One finger slipped easily inside, then two. Stretching the sensitive metals down there in a way that felt even better than the hand on his spike. Greaseball shuddered, throwing his head back as he pumped his fingers in and out of his valve. It still wasn’t good enough, wasn’t another engine bent over him, but it would have to do for now. 

Finally, overload came. Greaseball collapsed back onto his berth, giving his spike another few pumps before his hand moved to rub at his belly instead. His other hand slipped from his valve, still wet and slick with lubricant. The heat still filled his body, unabated by a little self-service, but Greaseball was too tired to do anything else about it now.


	4. Chapter 4

Shunting in the freight yard was possibly the worst punishment Greaseball could think of. It was boring, meant he was stuck around freight cars all day, and couldn’t get above maybe 5 miles an hour when rolling. Greaseball skated into the yard one morning feeling pissed off, exhausted, and horny, which really wasn’t a great combination for shunting cars around. And then he heard a whistle and remembered the other reason he hated being in the yards; because with Rusty out pulling passenger trains that meant Poppa McCoy was in charge. 

Greaseball groaned and rolled his eyes as the old steam engine came over to him, a stern look on his weathered face. Here it comes. 

“Boy, you look like a strong breeze could blow you down.” Poppa chastised, “Come over here and have a seat before you fall over.”

“I’m fine.” Greaseball crossed his arms, stubbornly staying right where he was. He didn’t need some corroded steamer telling him what to do.

Unfortunately for the diesel, he was too tired to resist when Poppa actually grabbed his couplings and pushed him over to a concrete loading platform. Reluctantly, Greaseball took a seat on the edge of the platform. The worst part was that it actually did feel good to get off his wheels for a moment. 

“Now, you wait right there.” Poppa wagged his finger at the younger engine in warning before skating off across the yard as fast as his old wheels would take him. Greaseball was tempted to get up and leave, just to spite the old steamer, but hadn’t gotten up the energy to move by the time Poppa came back. The diesel was very surprised to see that the older engine had a can of diesel fuel and a few ‘crackers,’ thin wafers containing metals and minerals that all engines needed to maintain their bodies, in hand. 

“I already fuelled this morning.” Greaseball protested even as he took the offerings. 

“And not enough, I bet.” Poppa said sternly, settling his old body down next to Greaseball. “Gotta up your fuel intake, boy. Those kits you’re carrying need it.”

Almost unconsciously, Greaseball pressed a hand to his belly. He hadn’t really given any thought to what the little ones needed, that he might have to change his habits for them. He hoped he hadn’t hurt them. 

“Now, I heard about you and Dinah.” Poppa leaned back, fishing a lump of coal out of his tender and popping it in his mouth idly. “And I’m gonna guess that means you ain’t been getting any good sex lately.”

Greaseball stared at the old engine, hardly able to believe what had just come out of his mouth. “What-“

“Don’t you give me that look now. Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I don’t get around.” Poppa nudged Greaseball’s hand, which was still holding the full can of diesel. “Get that fuel in you, boy. Them crackers too. If you aren’t getting what you need through sex, then you need to get it another way.”

Somehow, Greaseball didn’t think crackers were a very good substitute for sex. “What’re you talking about, old man?”

“Don’t you know anything about making babies?” Poppa shook his head sadly. Fewer and fewer trains were reproducing the natural way anymore, letting the humans build new rolling stock to bolster their numbers instead. “I’m sure you’ve noticed cum makes you feel good, yeah? It’s got lots of metals and such in it, good for the body. And good for providing the material kits need to grow. My recommendation, find somebody willing to spike ya for the sake of the kits. And if you don’t, start eating more.”

Greaseball looked down at the thin metal wafer in his hand for a moment before lifting it to his mouth and taking a bite. It did help him feel better, satisfying an irritating mental itch that he didn’t even know was bothering him. “You talk with Rusty about this kind of shit?”

“Rusty’s still young. He and Pearl haven’t even gotten past the kissing stage yet.” Though, Rusty had been asking where baby engines came from in light of recent developments. Maybe it was time to have that conversation. 

Greaseball snorted. He was only a few years older than Rusty, but the younger steamer hadn’t been out in the big, bad world. Just here at the AV yard, with Poppa to protect him. 

 

Though he didn’t like letting Poppa McCoy be right about anything, Greaseball did at least take his advice about eating to heart. A few crackers with his morning fuelling and a few more in the evening after work mostly eliminated his exhaustion, and helped a little bit with the horniness too. Greaseball was still sexually frustrated though, especially since servicing himself seemed to give no relief. 

The problem was, Greaseball really couldn’t think of anybody else in the yard he was willing to get intimate with. Pearl, gorgeous if a bit vapid, was off the table. The other coaches would probably be willing, but Greaseball was worried that they’d get too attached. He wasn’t ready to try an actual relationship again. His gang were adults yes, but whenever Greaseball looked at them all he could see were the scared, young diesels that had arrived at the yard years before. Poppa himself had also offered, which made Greaseball give a full-body shudder of disgust. No, just no. 

There were also the kits to think about. Growing quickly but still delicate. Fragile. As his belly grew, it was more difficult to defend and shield. It was some deep, ingrained instinct most likely, but Greaseball just didn’t trust anyone to get that close. 

Well, there was one person. And, after days with no relief, Greaseball finally grew frustrated enough to seek out Dinah. Hoping the dining car might be up for a quick romp in the berth, no strings attached. The problem was, as always, finding her. 

Rolling up to the coach shed, Greaseball groaned when he saw Buffy leaning in the doorway. Not the coach he was looking for. 

“Well hey there, big boy.” Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, looking him up and down with interest. Gaze lingering on his middle. “You seem to be getting a bit round there, Greasy.”

“Yes thank you, Buffy.” Greaseball shifted his arms, trying to shield his round abdomen from view. “Is Dinah here?”

“Now why would you be looking for Dinah?” Buffy smacked her gum, a smirk on her face. “Everybody knows you two aren’t together anymore. Take it she didn’t like you fucking somebody else?”

Greaseball’s engine rumbled with anger. “Is. She. Here.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow, toying with not answering just to see how mad the diesel would get, but eventually relented. “No, she isn’t here. Maybe she’s got a new man to hang around with.”

A new man. Greaseball growled at the thought, even though he knew he had no claim on the dining car. He turned and skated away, thinking about where else Dinah could be. He was afraid he knew. 

“You might be getting fat around the middle, but your ass is fine as ever!” Buffy hollered after him before going back into the shed. Boy, if she wasn’t exclusive with Ashley, she’d tap that hunk of diesel so hard. Dinah didn’t know what she was giving up. 

 

Arriving at the freight yard, Greaseball looked around for a flash of red. He’d seen CB come back earlier that day, fully repaired but still banned from train duties. Presumably, he’d be somewhere in the yard. 

Finally, the diesel spotted him. CB was leaning casually against a set of buffers, apparently enjoying the return of his hearing by chatting with none other than Dinah. Greaseball started forward eagerly, about to call her name, when he saw Dinah lean in and give CB a kiss. Not a friendly one on the cheek, no, an intimate one right on the lips. 

Greaseball saw red. Completely forgetting that Dinah had broken up with him nearly a month ago now, his face twisted into an angry snarl. “CABOOSE!”

CB looked up, smile falling away when he saw Greaseball looking like an angered bull and coming right for him. Moving much faster than any engine who was five months pregnant had any right to be moving. “Uh, hey GB. What’s-“

“You stay away from her!” Greaseball yelled, quickly gaining ground. 

This was far from the first time CB had faced down an angry engine. However, it was the first time he’d pissed off an engine completely unintentionally. And while CB was many things, the kind of guy who got into a fight with a pregnant person wasn’t one of them. Making a decision, the caboose ran. 

Being engine-less rolling stock meant that CB was not particularly fast on his own. To make things worse, he was trying to escape from an engine that had held the world racing championship for several years running. CB’s only advantage was that Greaseball was weighed down by the bulk of the growing kits, and was less agile than the skinny caboose. 

Slowly but surely, though, Greaseball was gaining ground on CB. The caboose dodged right, and felt rough hands graze his shoulder box. Too close. CB had the dreaded thought that, even if he escaped now, he was still constricted to the yard and Greaseball knew that full well. The train-yard was not prepared for an angry, hormonal diesel. 

Suddenly, CB remembered that his communications equipment was repaired and fully functional. And he had a certain electric’s contact information still saved from the race. Running out of options, CB called Electra. 

 

The call only lasted a minute or two before Greaseball finally caught up to CB and knocked him to the ground. The big diesel was panting hard, much harder than he had after any race, with one hand pressed to the bulge of his belly. The kits didn’t seem to like the sudden bought of exercise, mild cramps rippling through the gestation chamber. Still, Greaseball’s engine growled a very threatening tone as he stood over the caboose. The only thing keeping the diesel from taking out his anger on CB was the fact that Dinah had caught up to the pair and was grabbing Greaseball’s bicep in two dainty but strong hands. 

“What are you doing, Greaseball?” The dining car demanded, tugging at him until he broke eye contact with CB to look at her instead. “What did CB ever do to you?”

The angry expression faded from Greaseball’s face as his breathing slowed down, a bit of clarity coming back into the diesel’s eyes. “He. You. You kissed him.”

“Yes, I did. Because CB and I just decided to start dating.” Dinah sighed and shook her head. She hadn’t intended for him to find out this way, having suspected that Greaseball wouldn’t take it well. “We aren’t together anymore, remember? I can do whatever I want.”

Greaseball looked down at CB, who had pulled himself up into a sitting position but wisely remained on the ground. Right, Dinah wasn’t his anymore. She could do whatever she wanted. Even if that meant hooking up with CB. 

“Come on.” Dinah pulled him a little further away, only able to move the big diesel because he was still a little too dazed to resist. “You shouldn’t race like that anyways. Are you and the kits alright?” She looked with some concern at the way he was still holding one hand against his belly. 

“I’m fine.” Greaseball responded automatically even as he gave a light grunt of pain. 

“Go back to your shed.” Dinah ordered gently, pushing him away. She waiting until it looked like Greaseball was actually obeying, skating slowly back towards the trainyard, before turning to pull CB up off the ground. She’d known that Greaseball probably wouldn’t handle the breakup well, but this had still been a bit of a surprise. They really needed to hook the diesel up with someone. Preferably before he had the kits.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun da dun, everybody's favorite electric is back!

A little more than two weeks had passed since Electra had gotten that frenzied call from CB before the electric engine finally rolled into the AV trainyard with his train of components. Little had changed in the nearly six months since Electra had last visited. The buildings were still old and corroded, one or two warehouses on the fringe collapsing in on themselves, and the rolling stock filling the sidings were mismatched rejects from a variety of defunct companies across the US. 

Electra sneered as he pulled to a halt, retracting his pantograph from the overhead cantenary and switching to battery power before shifting over to his bipedal mech form. His components were quick to follow, looking to their boss curiously. Electra still hadn’t adequately explained just why they had come back, though the components all suspected it had something to do with a certain strong, fast diesel engine. They knew exactly what their boss had gotten up to the night before the big race. 

“So what are we doing back here?” It was Purse who broke the silence, looking at the shoddy surroundings with disdain. 

“Apparently, we are needed.” Electra commented, voice taking on a bored tone. “That caboose called me, begging us to return.”

“It’s that diesel, isn’t it?” Joule commented with a smirk. “That hunky one. I sure wouldn’t mind seeing him again.”

“The caboose did say something about Greaseball.” Electra said slowly. He certainly wouldn’t mind seeing the diesel again either. Maybe picking up where they had left off the night before the race. 

Electra gingerly rolled through the yard, avoiding rusty rails and rotten wooden ties, when he heard the rough sound of freight being shifted. There, ahead, he could see a very familiar backside. That was the ass he remembered so well, with its white hazard stripes on black metal, looking as good as it had in his memory files. 

Then, Greaseball turned and Electra stopped where he was in shock. The diesel’s firm, strong form had softened at the edges. Glaringly obvious was the lack of abdominal plating, instead, in their place, a distended curve of rubbery coating protecting the swollen internals underneath. 

Quickly, Electra masked his surprise with bluster. “Well then, Greaseball. I see being a loser hasn’t sat well with you. You’ve sure let yourself go.”

The diesel gaped as he stared at Electra, the electric’s bright, flashy colors looking so bold and out of place in the dingy train yard. Then, Electra’s words registered and Greaseball felt anger taking over. 

“You!” The big diesel lunged forward, moving quicker than one would expect for someone of his size, and socked Electra right on the jaw. 

Electra fell back, hand to his dented faceplate, “Why you-!” He drew his fist back for a hit of his own when suddenly a pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him aside. 

“Don’t you dare!” It was Wrench, looking at her boss with a stern expression. She then turned to fix Greaseball with the same no-nonsense glare. “And you! Come here.”

Wrench pushed Greaseball over to a clear patch of land and made him lay down on his back for her, taking advantage of that odd instinct that made all rolling stock obey a repair truck whether they wanted to or not. Electra and the rest of the components just watched, knowing better to get between Wrench and someone she had decided was a patient. 

Though clearly disgruntled, Wrench’s hands were still gentle as she lightly pressed on Greaseball’s belly. Muttering about how she didn’t know this yard got by without a proper repair truck, Wrench’s eyes narrowed as she examined the diesel. Special sensors told her everything about the diesel’s systems, from his fuel consumption to exactly what metals his body was currently deficient in. She could also pick up the subtle signal that was unique to each engine, which told her all she needed to know about Greaseball’s condition. 

“You’ve got four developing kits, a little small but healthy.” She told the diesel, drawing back and allowing him to sit up. “Your levels are low, of all metals. How frequently have you been having sex lately?”

“What-? I- That’s none of your business.” Greaseball managed, struggling to climb back to his wheels. His mind swum with the sudden information. Four, he was having four little kits. How had she even known that?

Electra, meanwhile, had lost some of his composure. “You’re –pregnant-?” He blurted out, staring at Greaseball. 

“Yeah, what of it?” Greaseball crossed his arms over his torso, feeling the need to protect his kits. “Have you suddenly come back to take responsibility for this? Cause if so, you’ve got no business claiming them now.”

Responsibility? Claiming them? Wait, the kits weren’t- “Are you trying to say they’re mine?” 

“Well, I ain’t been spiked by anyone else in the last six months.” Greaseball said roughly. He really hadn’t given any thought to what might happen if Electra returned, having assumed the electric was gone for good. The diesel had been prepared to have and raise these kits on his own, and wasn’t sure what to do now that Electra was apparently back. 

Both engines stared at each other for a long moment before the tension was abruptly broken by Joule. The dynamite truck burst out laughing, weakly wiping tears from her eyes as she gave Electra a slap on the shoulder. “Boy, you’ve really fucked it up this time boss. Have fun playing daddy!” She turned around and began skating away across the yard. “Come on, let’s leave the two lovebirds to it.”

The other components quickly followed, off to locate the shed they had used during their last visit, though Wrench paused long enough to give her boss a little advice. “Spike him good. He needs it. But don’t get too rough.” And with that, the two engines were left alone. 

“Well, if you’re just here for a quick fuck before leaving again, you can forget it.” As good as the sex had been, Greaseball wasn’t looking for just a quick fling with an engine he still barely knew. 

Electra huffed. “For your information, we have been purchased by your Controller. I can’t leave even if I wanted to. And I am offended you think I am the type to just abandon my offspring.”

“They ain’t yours.” Greaseball growled. “They’re mine. And if you think you can just waltz back in here-“

“I don’t think I can, I know I can.” Electra boldly closed the space between them, placing a hand on the bulge of the diesel’s belly. It was very warm, just there, and the electric engine was surprised to feel gentle little movements under his palm. 

Greaseball’s engine rumbled, but he didn’t feel the urge to slap the electric’s hand away. It actually felt good, having the other engine’s hand there, even though anyone else who dared invade the diesel’s personal space like this was roughly pushed away. 

“Now then, shall we go back to your shed?” Electra asked with a smirk, hoping that whatever space the diesel called his own was in better shape than the sheds he’d been given to use during his last visit. 

“And what makes you think I want you in my shed?” Greaseball recovered his wits enough to back up a little, putting some space between himself and the other engine. Something inside him whined from the loss of Electra’s touch. 

“Because I need somewhere to stay. And my repair truck has told me you could use a little. . . tender care.” Electra wasn’t about to let Greaseball go that easily and followed him, so close now that if he leaned forward just a bit more, he could capture the diesel’s lips in a kiss. When Greaseball didn’t back away again, Electra did just that and was satisfied when the diesel moaned into his mouth. 

Greaseball was a little embarrassed at how easily Electra could get to him, placing the blame firmly on the pregnancy making him desperately horny. The diesel wanted nothing more than to go back to his shed and rut the electric into his berth, but the blare of a diesel horn reminded Greaseball that it was still the middle of the day and they were standing in broad daylight in middle of the shunting yard. Face pulling into a frown, the diesel pushed Electra a safe distance away. “Unfortunately, I have shunting work to do. You’ll have to find a shed on your own, you know the way around the yard.”

As Greaseball skated away, Electra crossed his arms and watched him leave. So close! But, then, that’s one of the things Electra liked about the big diesel so much. Somehow, Greaseball was immune to his magnetic influence, which could so easily put rolling stock under his thrall. Electra couldn’t help but be intrigued. Of course, adding to the situation was the fact that Greaseball was pregnant with his kits. Just the thought of Greaseball getting bigger, growing heavier with his young, was very arousing to the electric. He would not let himself be denied. 

Deciding he could always come back later, Electra left the shunting yard to re-familiarize himself with the lay of the land. Past the many warehouses and human buildings were a variety of sheds for the rolling stock. The coach shed, freight sheds, and many others. Electra skated past the shed that he had stayed in the last time he was here, heading instead for a large roundhouse that curled around an impressive turn-table. Electra had a strong suspicion that if Greaseball lived anywhere, it would be at the nicest shed in the yard. 

As he rolled up, one of the large shed doors opened and a black diesel engine emerged. The engine positioned himself over the rails, obviously preparing to change shape, but Electra called out to him before he could actually shift. 

“Hey, you!” The electric engine put his hands on his hips and looked the smaller diesel up and down critically. “You’re one of Greaseball’s. . . gang, was it?”

“Uh, yeah?” The diesel seemed surprised to see the flashy electric so close, “I’m Lube. If you’re looking for boss, he ain’t here.”

Lube? How . . . quaint. “That’s alright, I’ve already seen him. What I want to know is, which stall is Greaseball’s?”

“Oh, uh. He’s got the one on the end. It’s separate from the rest of the shed.” Lube pointed at the door helpfully. “Why?”

Electra ignored the diesel as he rolled over to examine the stall door. It was locked, of course, but that was nothing a little applied electricity couldn’t fix. It took only a moment for Electra to melt the lock, pushing the door open forcefully. Outside, Lube yelled something, but Electra paid him no mind as he closed the door behind him and examined the living space he had discovered. 

It was fairly utilitarian, as Electra had anticipated. Like most roundhouses, the stall was shaped like a piece of pie. In the narrow front half sat a few racing trophies, a human-sized television, and something that appeared to be approximating a couch. Electra moved past that, towards the rear of the shed, where he found a sizable berth with more than enough space to hold them both. Stuffed under it were a few blankets and pillows, all a bit dingy and mismatched as though they had been stolen from somewhere else. 

“It’s a good thing I came back.” Electra sniffed. “That diesel has no sense for interior decorating. This place is a dump.”

With nothing better to do, and unable to handle the offensive sight of the dirty stall, Electra started tidying up the place a bit. Empty oil cans were piled up by the door to be taken out later, the blankets on the floor shaken out and folded nicely. The place wasn’t perfect, but he could at least make it somewhat presentable. 

 

It was another couple of hours before Greaseball finished in the yard and returned to his shed. Technically his shift wasn’t even over yet, but Poppa was good at sensing when the diesel was too tired to work and kicking him out of the shunting yard when he reached that point.

Rolling slowly back towards his shed, Greaseball was looking forward to just lying in his berth and not moving for a while when he noticed that someone had broken the lock off his door. Greaseball frowned and slowly pushed up the door, preparing himself to tangle with whoever had decided to invade his private space, only to be faced with a stall that was. . . much cleaner than it had been when he left it. 

“What the-?” Greaseball closed to the door behind him, taking in the sight of a neat pyramid of empty oil cans stacked in the corner (had he really managed to gather that many?) and the conspicuous lack of stains on the floor. Who the hell broke into an engine’s stall just to clean it?

The answer to that question was suddenly obvious when Electra rolled out from behind the partition that separated the berth from the rest of the space. 

“What are you doing in my shed?” Greaseball crossed his arms and glared at the electric engine. “I lock the door for a reason!”

“Well you should’ve gotten a better lock. That one melted right off with very little effort.” Electra scoffed, unbothered by the diesel’s anger. “And it’s a good thing I did come in, this place was deplorable. I can’t believe you were thinking about bringing our offspring into such an environment.”

“I’d have cleaned it.” Greaseball protested, not wanting to admit he really had let the place go to shit since Dinah left.

“When? While you were big and round and struggling to get around, or after the kits were born?” Electra pushed. 

“I’m not some invalid.” Greaseball bristled, irritated by the insinuation that he wasn’t capable of taking care of his own space. 

“No.” Electra conceded. “Just pregnant. Which means somebody has to take care of you.”

“I don’t need anybody to take care of me.” Especially not some jumped-up, arrogant electric. “I’ve been doing just fine without you around.”

“Oh really?” They were alone, there would be no distractions this time. Electra did not hesitate to come in close enough to touch, to place his hands boldly on the diesel’s sides so he couldn’t run. “Then why aren’t you pulling away when I do this?” Electra leaned in to kiss Greaseball, taking his time to enjoy the diesel’s lips. They were softer than he would’ve expected. 

Though Greaseball could have backed away, could’ve thrown Electra out of his shed, he discovered that he really didn’t want to. For once, his defensive instincts weren’t clamoring for personal space, to repeal the intruder. Instead, that arousal that had been affecting him for the last few months of his pregnancy came flooding back in full force. The heat pooling in his crotch made his knees weak, spike pushing at his codpiece and valve desperate to be filled. 

Suddenly, Greaseball couldn’t help but wonder why he was trying to resist Electra. When the electric was standing there, obviously willing and ready to go, and Greaseball was oh so tired of trying to satisfy his urges himself. 

Engine rumbling, the diesel took control of the situation and grabbed Electra by the hips. Roughly pulling the electric engine in the direction of the berth, Greaseball let his hands roam a little. “Less talking, more fucking.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Electra gasped when Greaseball’s hand found his codpiece, rubbing at the obstructive piece of outer plating harshly. Clearly, the diesel wasn’t going to be as complacent as he had been during their last coupling. The electric engine pressurized his spike, hips jerking when Greaseball immediately wrapped his hand around it and tugged him towards the berth. 

“I want this inside me.” Greaseball growled, keeping a hand on Electra’s long, smooth spike even as he pushed the electric down onto the berth. Electra didn’t even have the presence of mind to make a snarky comment, only having a moment to get comfortable on his back before Greaseball was over him and slowly sinking down onto his spike. The diesel was well lubricated, hissing between clenched teeth as he relished in the feeling of being filled completely and utterly. He had been craving this for too long. 

Electra’s hands moved to grip Greaseball’s hips as the diesel began to move, riding the electric’s full length with a rhythm that told Electra this wouldn’t last very long if he didn’t intervene. “Whoa, there. What’s the hurry?”

“What’s the hurry?” Greaseball rumbled, not slowing one bit. “I have gone six months without being fucked. Six months with these four insisting I get laid.” He pointed to his belly, where the kits were thankfully still despite the vigorous activity of their parent. “And if you aren’t capable of going more than one round tonight, maybe I don’t want you here.”

Never one to pass up a challenge, Electra bucked his hips and drove his spike a little deeper into the diesel above him. Greaseball threw his head back and cried out, coming down harder with each thrust. A few more like that and Greaseball overloaded, his valve clenching on the spike inside bringing Electra along with him only seconds later. 

The tension drained from Greaseball’s body as he panted, drawing in air to help cool his overheating engine. He bent over slightly and placed his hands on either side of the LED scrollbox on Electra’s chest, watching the glowing red designs roll past as he came down from possibly the hardest overload he’d had in his life. 

As he watched, the scrolling lightning-bolt display changed to little red dancing hearts instead. Surprised, Greaseball lifted his head and made eye contact with Electra. The electric engine only smirked, “Ready for round two?”

Greaseball grinned, “Only if you are.”

 

The two continued on well into the night, until finally Greaseball passed out from exhaustion. Electra, nearly as tired but at least still conscious, carefully arranged the diesel on the berth and grabbed a rag to clean the dried lubricant off his thighs. The electric engine frowned as he received a low-power alert from his systems. That was no surprise, considering the amount of. . . exercise he had gotten in the last few hours. Normally Electra recharged as he slept, but this shed didn’t seem to have a power-hookup of the necessary capacity for the electric. Only normal little household 110 power, barely enough to energize his base systems.

Regretfully, Electra pushed himself up from the berth and looked down at the sleeping diesel engine. He wanted to stay, but barely had enough energy to make it back to the shed the rest of his components were using as it was. Electra took a moment to lean down and place a hand on the gentle curve of Greaseball’s middle. It was so soft, the gestation chamber having a bit of give to it if he pushed, so different compared to the hard plating of the rest of the diesel’s body. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Electra whispered, both to Greaseball and to his unborn kits. Quietly, the electric left the shed and closed the door behind him. He would definitely have to have a talk with Control about upgrading the electrical hookups in that shed in the morning.


	6. Chapter 6

For the first time in months, Greaseball awoke in the morning feeling satisfied. His valve ached from the abuse the night before, and his fuel tank was insistent in reminding him how low it was, but at least that burning need was finally gone from his systems. The hunger was gone, and the kits were just a warm mass settled low on his middle. Idly, Greaseball remembered what Poppa had said about sex being the best way for a gravid engine to get the materials growing kits needed. It seemed like the old steamer had been right. 

As he slowly made his way to full consciousness, Greaseball realized the one thing that was missing. A certain electric engine was suspiciously absent from the berth. With a growl, Greaseball suddenly sat upright and looked around the stall. No sign of Electra. Had the electric really fucked him and left? Even though he said he wouldn’t?

“Dammit!” Greaseball swung out with a fist, leaving a dent in the shape of his knuckles in the metal wall of the shed. His eyes burned, tears threatening, though Greaseball refused to let them fall. He wasn’t some weak breeder who bawled because he had been left alone. He didn’t need that damn electric engine and neither did his kits. 

Still fuming, Greaseball left his stall and made his way to the fuel depot. Several of his gang members were there, idly chatting as they refueled, though they immediately went silent upon seeing their leader approaching. And he was hopping mad. 

“Uh, h-hey, Boss.” Tank, the eldest of the siblings, held out a can of diesel to Greaseball. “I take it last night didn’t go so well?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Greaseball snarled, knocking back the can of fuel in one big gulp. He knew he was supposed to fuel slowly so as not to upset his currently rather delicate fueling system, but at that point he just couldn’t bring himself to care. So what if he felt sick later. 

As he crushed the can and threw it in the recycling pile, he spotted a brightly decorated pair approaching the depot. It was Wrench and Volta, both seeking diesel fuel for their internal engines. 

“You two!” Greaseball pointed at them threateningly, making both trucks pause. “You can tell your boss to go fuck himself.”

It wasn’t until Greaseball was skating away that he realized if Electra’s components were still here, then the electric himself must still be lurking around. So why hadn’t he been in the shed that morning?

Arriving at the marshalling yard, Greaseball roughly shunted a line of freight cars into a siding. They yelped in protest at the harsh treatment, not appreciating being shoved around so disrespectfully. 

“Oi!” It was Flat Top, the brick truck, who broke ranks to confront the diesel. “What was that about? Last night with Electra not go so hot?”

Did everybody know about him and Electra? “And who told you about that?”

“Nobody told me.” Flat Top laughed, “You two ain’t exactly quiet. The whole yard knows about it.”

Of course they did. Greaseball shook his head. “Well you won’t have to worry about that no more.”

“He that bad in bed?”

“No, because he LEFT.” Greaseball yelled the last word, shocking the rest of the yard into silence. The freight cars all stared at the diesel engine, surprised by the outburst. 

“B-but.” The quiet, shy voice of Dustin the aggregate hopper broke the silence. “Electra was just here.”

“Yeah, talkin’ with Control about something.” Rocky One noted. “Not even an hour ago.”

“Then he skated off.” Rocky Two added.

Electra was still around? And, what, avoiding him? Greaseball frowned, determined not to care. “Whatever. Get back in line, Gook is coming to pick you up for a run.”

It took a few more minutes of jostling, shoving, and cracks about Greaseball and Electra’s (lack of) a love life to get the freight cars arranged on the rails and shifted into rolling stock so that Gook could come and get them. With that done, Greaseball decided work could go screw itself and headed back for his shed. 

Unfortunately for Greaseball, it seemed that his shed was not going to be the retreat he thought it was. Human workers were milling about, in their bright orange safety vests and hard hats, taking measurements and writing in their little notebooks. 

“What are you doing to my shed?” Greaseball tried to throttle back his irritation, even though at that moment he wanted little more than to go and close the door to his shed and not see anyone for the rest of the day. 

“Running high power electrical cabling.” One of the humans responded, pointing out a thick black cable lying spooled on the ground. “Planning out an extension as well. Gonna need more space when the new engines are here.”

The new engines? Greaseball put a hand to his belly, feeling the kits stir and kick inside. He hadn’t really given much thought to where they would live, hadn’t thought much past just getting through the pregnancy at all, to be honest. 

“You didn’t really think you could fit six in that little shed, did you?”

Greaseball whipped around to see the object of his ire standing there, bright and shining with that insufferable smirk on his face. “I can’t believe you! All that crap about not leaving and then you just walked out. And for your information, I’m only having four.”

“Walked out! I’ve been spending all morning organizing this for you.” Electra crossed his arms. He had expected gratitude, not accusations. “Your little shed didn’t have an electrical hookup powerful enough to recharge me, I had to go back to that hovel I used last time. I made a promise, and I never back out on a promise.”

Slowly, Greaseball felt a bit of his anger fade. Of course, that was why Electra hadn’t been there in the morning. Because he was an electric who had to be plugged into a power source at night, and Greaseball’s shed didn’t have the proper power hookups. Still- “Well how was I supposed to know that? Wakin’ up alone like that, what was I supposed to think? I don’t know anything about you except that you’re flashy, arrogant, and rude.”

Electra frowned at the assessment, but tried not to let it get to him. The diesel had a point, after all. They didn’t know anything about each other. Their only interaction had been during the races, as rivals pitted against each other. “Well then. We shall have to change that. What do you engines do for fun after work around here?”

For fun? There really wasn’t much to do around the AV trainyard, nestled as it was next to a podunk town up in the mountains. Usually they blew off steam by racing (which Control didn’t approve of, but looked the other way about), but that wasn’t really an option for Greaseball at the moment. “Well. There’s this hill outside the yard that folks like to use for stargazing.” 

Electra sighed. Stargazing. Well, it would just have to do. “Fine. When you finish with your work, we’ll meet back here and go to your hill. Alright?” With that, he rolled off to locate his components. 

Greaseball stared after the electric, unsure if he’d just been asked out on a date or to a showdown.

 

Feeling slightly less pissed off, which all the freight cars were quite grateful for, Greaseball returned to his shunting work until the end of the day. Then, with the sun beginning to set over the horizon, he returned to the diesel sheds. 

Electra was there waiting, the rays of the setting sun gleaming on the many shining, reflective pieces of his body. He made quite a sight posing there, practically glowing in the fading light. “Well then, shall we go?” Electra held out a hand to the diesel.

Greaseball was impressed, but still hadn’t completely forgiven the electric. Ignoring the offered hand, the diesel stepped past and began skating down the rails. It would’ve been much faster for him to go in engine form, but the kits had grown large enough he wasn’t supposed to change shape anymore. He also wasn’t supposed to move any faster than a moderate rate of speed, but he figured a gentle cruise on the rails couldn’t hurt. 

It wasn’t a difficult task at all for Electra to keep up with the other engine, though he did make sure to stay slightly behind so he could better appreciate the diesel’s magnificent backside. He was, admittedly, slightly worried about the speed at which they were travelling. Electra didn’t know too much about pregnancy, but he was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to do anything too energetic. “Why the rush, I don’t think the stars are going anywhere.” Electra caught up to Greaseball, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. 

The diesel slowed down, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Electra’s hand. “What, can’t handle a little speed? I thought you were a hotshot racer.”

“Hmph. I don’t have any trouble with speed. But what about your passengers?” Electra looked down at the diesel’s midsection for emphasis. 

His passengers? Well, that was one way of looking at it. Greaseball throttled back his speed a little bit more until it was really a leisurely stroll. It didn’t matter anyway, because they were almost there. 

Another mile or so, and Greaseball rolled to a halt. They were well beyond the lights of the trainyard now, and the glow of the little town of Victoria was barely visible over the crest of a large hill in the distance. It was very quiet, and peaceful in its way. Electra wasn’t much for nature but if this is what it took to get Greaseball to let him in, so be it. 

Electra carefully sat in the grass of a large hill that rose up from the trackback, patting the ground next to him in invitation. It took Greaseball a little longer to settle down onto the hillside. The weight and mass of the growing kits was beginning to become a hindrance to his mobility, making bending in the middle an increasingly difficult task. One hand on his belly for security and the other out behind him, the diesel managed to flop down onto the ground before looking over to see Electra watching him with amusement. “What?”

“You’ve gotten fat.” The electric responded, smile never leaving his face. It was entertaining indeed to see the strong, powerful diesel growing soft and round with young. 

“You’re not supposed to say that shit to a pregnant engine.” Greaseball frowned, cheeks tinged maybe a bit red with embarrassment. “You’re supposed to tell me I’m gorgeous and not fat and crap like that.”

“Fine, you’re gorgeous and not fat at all. Happy?” Electra shifted a bit closer, feigning looking up at the stars above. It was pretty, at least, out here away from the light pollution. Like the entire universe was laid out above them. 

“I used to take Dinah here.” Greaseball said after several long minutes of silence. “Before she left. She liked to look up at the stars.”

“Ah yes, the little dining car.” Electra had attempted to race with her, but found her too temperamental. “I had thought you two broke up before the final.”

“We tried to get back together afterwards. Didn’t work.” Greaseball shifted uncomfortably, rubbing one hand across the upper curve of his midsection. “Don’t think she liked seeing me like this.”

“Her loss.” Electra watched as the diesel continued to shift his weight, seemingly unable to settle in one place. “Is there something wrong?”

“They’re just. . . active.” Greaseball wasn’t used to admitting when he wasn’t feeling well, having had long years of experience masking his weaknesses, but it was very difficult to sit still when one was being energetically kicked from the inside. “Little shits. Always seem to wake up at night.”

“Really?” Electra took the opportunity to wrap an arm around the other engine, settling a hand on Greaseball’s belly to feel the movements of the kits. He was rewarded when the diesel didn’t push him away, only moving his hand to where the activity was strongest. “It seems you and I make some powerful offspring. They’ll be quite the racers.”

Greaseball didn’t answer, still looking down at his distended middle contemplatively. Electra felt bold enough to start rubbing his hand against the heavy curve of the diesel’s gestation chamber, pressingly lightly in a gentle massage. Greaseball’s engine rumbled a pleased note in response to the attention, and he pressed a little closer into the touch. 

As Electra shifted to get better access to Greaseball’s front, the diesel felt himself relaxing under the electric’s ministrations. Soon, Greaseball was laying flat on his back in the grass with Electra straddling his hips, rubbing those talented hands all over the diesel’s burdened midsection. It felt amazing, and Greaseball didn’t think he would ever want to move again. 

“So. . .” Electra moved to firmly massage the diesel’s sides, which drew a happy groan, “What did you do before ending up at this little trainyard?”

“Hmmm?” It took Greaseball a moment to focus on the question. “I was a Union Pacific passenger engine. Pulled the streamlined high speed city trains, I’ve worked nearly all their most prestigious lines. Why?”

“Well, didn’t we come out here tonight to learn more about eachother?” Electra had expected such a story; Greaseball still wore the livery of the Union Pacific railroad and had all the hallmarks of an old-school American passenger diesel. It was still good to hear it from his own mouth. “I’m a government experiment originally. Carrying armaments, weaponry. Ammo. Went to Santa Fe for a bit, now I’m here.”

“Government engine?” Greaseball was a little surprised to hear that. He hadn’t given much thought to what Electra had been built for, just rolled his eyes at the electric’s claims of being ‘ultra-modern’ and superior. Though if he was experimental, maybe that wasn’t too far off. “And your components?”

“A part of me, and I a part of them.” Perhaps a little simplistic, but the relationship between Electra and his components was not easy to describe. “I know they’d be quite willing to join in sometimes, if you’re up for it.” 

Get Electra and all of his components in the berth? Greaseball shivered at the thought. And then shivered again for another reason. Electra had shifted again, from straddling his hips to kneeling inbetween his thighs, forcing Greaseball to spread his legs. One hand moved from his torso to rub at the cover to his valve instead, until Greaseball obligingly opened the cover and Electra could slip a few fingers inside. 

“Aaahh.” Greaseball panted, breath fogging in the cool night air as two, then three fingers entered his valve. A little electric current zapped between Electra’s fingers, just a slight shock that blurred the line between pain and pleasure. As good as it felt, though, fingers weren’t what Greaseball needed. 

Electra, fortunately, realized that. Once Greaseball was nice and wet and needy, the electric pressurized his spike and wiped fingers slick with lubricant down his length. To get properly lined up, Electra reached underneath Greaseball and firmly grasped the diesel’s ass to lift his hips up a bit. Then, he very slowly slid inside. 

“Oh, fuuuuck.” It was torture, sweet torture, how slowly Electra was moving, but Greaseball was in no position to take control. He could only lie back in the grass, unable to bend enough to even get his hands on the electric due to the extra weight sitting on his middle. 

“Now, we’re going to do it my way.” Electra grinned, rocking his hips and drawing a low moan from his partner. Rough and hard was fine, but tonight Electra intended to see if he could make Greaseball beg. 

“Nnnng.” The diesel’s hands dug furrows in the grass as he clenched his fists, wishing he could grab the electric’s hips instead. Electra wasn’t even all the way in yet, and already Greaseball could feel himself coming undone. The diesel wasn’t used to going slow; he normally took his partner fast and hard in the berth, so this was sweet agony. “Oh, come on!”

“Ah, ah. What do we say?” Electra taunted, pressing his fingers a little more firmly into the diesel’s ass as he tugged Greaseball fully down onto his spike. 

“Fuck. You.” Greaseball managed, crossing his legs behind Electra to try and pull the electric in closer. This also had the effect of making his valve clench down on Electra’s spike, causing both engines to gasp. 

“Nope. Wrong words.” Electra recovered his composure quickly, not willing to admit defeat yet. He still had a few tricks up his sleeve. An electrical current rippled down the length of his spike and Greaseball yelled, the hoarse cry echoing off the hills around them. “You like that? Want me to do it again?”

“Ahh, yeesss!” Greaseball’s voice was barely audible over the roaring of his engine. 

“Yes what?” Electra prompted. 

Too far gone to care how he looked, Greaseball finally relented. “Please! Please, just fuck me!”

“Well, how can I refuse that?” Electra began to move, rocking his hips in a steady rhythm as he felt himself getting charged up as well. The whine of his systems couldn’t be heard over the low thunder of Greaseball’s engine, but the building charge was clearly visible as static electricity crackled between the two engines. 

When Greaseball finally came, he surprised them both by sounding his ear-splitting air horn. Electra started laughing even as he overloaded as well, spilling his load deep into the diesel’s valve. 

“Did- did you intend to do that?” Electra managed through his breathless laughter once the noise had faded, still seated in his partner. 

“Shut up.” Greaseball couldn’t find the energy to move, he just lay strutlessly on the ground. “It just happens sometimes. Too much air pressure in the system.”

“If you say so.” Electra wiggled his fingers, which were still pressed into the diesel’s ass holding his hips off the ground. This only elicited a weak groan in response, though Greaseball could feel himself beginning to recover enough to maybe go another round. There wouldn’t be the chance, though, as a nearby sound made both engines freeze. The sound of voices. 

“I dunno, Rusty. That horn sounded like Greaseball. What if he’s in trouble?”

“Why would he be all the way out here? He’s pregnant and stuff, he isn’t supposed to leave the yard.” 

There really wasn’t time to do anything before Rusty and Pearl came around the bend in the tracks and spotted Greaseball and Electra in a very compromising position alongside the railbed. 

“Hey Electra. What are you doing to Greaseba- oh eurgh!” It took Rusty a moment to process the scene in front of him, face going bright red as he slapped a hand over his eyes. After a moment, he threw out his other hand to cover Pearl’s eyes as well. “What the hell, you guys!”

Not embarrassed at all, Electra simply pulled out of Greaseball with a wet squelching sound and rose to his wheels. The electric was very amused at the sound of hissing steam coming from Rusty as the steamer’s systems heated up. Poor young engine. 

“Hey, we were alone until you two came along.” Greaseball closed his valve cover and struggled to sit up. “Oi, Electra, give me a hand here.”

The electric obligingly reached down and pulled the diesel to his wheels, holding on to him for a moment until Greaseball seemed steady enough to let go of. 

“We did interrupt them, Rusty.” Pearl removed her boyfriend’s hand from her face, politely looking only at the other engines’ head and shoulders and not any lower than that. 

Rusty wasn’t so subtle, unable to help staring down at Greaseball’s and Electra’s crotches. The stains of dried lubricant there were glaringly obvious. Still, Rusty was able to handle himself alright. Until Electra reached over and gave Greaseball’s ass a slap under the guise of brushing off some of the grass stuck there. Rusty’s poor systems couldn’t take it anymore and his safety valve blew with a bang and a rush of steam. 

Everyone looked at the steamer in surprise as he stood sheepishly in a cloud of steam, face as red as the fire in his boiler. 

“Oh Rusty.” Pearl rolled her eyes fondly. “Now how are we going to get back to the yard?”

With Rusty suddenly out of water, and Greaseball low on fuel from their little outdoor romp, it ended up being Electra that pulled the whole train back to the trainyard. Dropping off Rusty at the water tower and Pearl at the coach sheds, Greaseball and Electra returned to the diesel’s shed. 

“It seems that the workmen are finished.” Electra observed as Greaseball unlocked his door, (Electra had been made to promise he wouldn’t melt the new lock).

“You gonna spend the night in here?” It would be nice to share the berth with someone again, though Greaseball wasn’t about to lay down his pride enough to ask. “I’m going straight to sleep, though. I’m not going to be able to have sex without seeing that kid’s horrified face for a week.”

Electra snorted. “I’m sure it was good for him. Give the little steam train a few things to ask that old steamer in the morning.”

“Urk, don’t even mention Poppa.” Greaseball slowly rolled back to the berth in his stall and settled down on it, pulling up a blanket around himself. Adult engines didn’t normally use the coverings, but since becoming pregnant the diesel had discovered a need for the soft material. 

Electra followed close behind, pausing long enough to draw out a thick charging cable from under his plating to plug into the brand-new outlet next to the berth before settling down beside Greaseball and joining him under the warm blanket. It was nice, to curl up against a purring diesel who was slowly idling down to sleep. To reach down and be able to lay a hand on the curve of a distended gestation chamber that carried his unborn offspring. Electra suddenly didn’t want to be anywhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please just imagine Greaseball making this sound when he overloads. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ktygFEvmWk


	7. Chapter 7

As Greaseball slowly struggled towards wakefulness, he couldn’t help but notice that he was more comfortable than he had been in months. There was a heavy frame curled up into him, producing a soft whirring sound in the otherwise silent shed, and a pair of warm hands were settled firmly on his middle. Opening his eyes, Greaseball found himself staring into the bright red and silver strands of Electra’s ridiculous mohawk. Sometime in the night, the diesel’s arms had wrapped around his partner to pull him close. Electra’s head was pillowed on Greaseball’s shoulder, the electric’s mouth open slightly as he drooled onto the diesel’s plating. 

“Eeuugh.” Greaseball gave Electra a little shove, displacing him from his headrest and causing the electric give a snort as his cheek hit the berth. “Drool on me again and I’ll kick you out.” The threat was somewhat undermined by the sleep still lacing Greaseball’s voice, so the diesel nudged Electra a little with his foot for good measure.

Electra’s systems hummed as he was brought online, shifting a little underneath the heavy blanket draped over them both. “Nnn. I don’t drool.”

“Tell that to my shoulder.” Even with the dampness on his plating, though, Greaseball couldn’t find any desire to move. Not when every part of him was so comfortable. 

Unfortunately, the world didn’t always move to Greaseball’s desires. The light rap of someone knocking on the shed door made both engines inside groan unhappily, neither one wanting to get up and answer it. 

“You go get it.” Greaseball mumbled, giving Electra a push. 

“It’s your shed.” Electric retorted, pulling the blanket up a little higher over his shoulders. 

“Yes, but I’m pregnant and that means you have to do what I say.” Greaseball countered. 

Try as he might, Electra couldn’t come up with a good rebuttal to that one. After all, hadn’t he just insisted the other day that Greaseball needed someone to take care of him? With an irritated grumble, Electra reluctantly slid out from under the covers and unplugged himself from his charging cable. He was still trying to finish booting up when he opened the door to the shed. 

“Finally, I was beginning to get worri- oh. Electra.” Dinah had not been expecting to find the electric in Greaseball’s shed, still looking half asleep with obvious lubricant stains on his thighs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, my darling.” Electra composed himself a bit, finally waking fully. “What did you need?”

“I just wanted to see if Greaseball was doing alright. I heard from the freight he seemed pretty upset yesterday.” Though Dinah was no longer in a relationship with the diesel, she still worried about him. 

“Well, he is quite okay now.” Electra said confidently. “Poor dear thought I had left him alone. I would never, and made sure he knew that last night.”

“Yes, I also heard from Pearl about what you two were up to last night.” Dinah shook her head in amusement. The observation car had just been a bit embarrassed, but then Buffy and Ashley had insisted on giving “the talk” and embarrassment had turned to mortification. No one had gotten much sleep in the coach sheds last night. “Could I talk to you for a moment?”

A bit confused, Electra obligingly stepped out of the shed and let the door close behind him. 

Now assured that no one would overhear, Dinah stepped a bit closer. “Now, I know me and Greaseball aren’t together anymore. But I still care about him, and don’t want to see anything happen to him. You do anything to hurt him, or those innocent little kits he’s carrying, and I’ll chop off your spike, fry it, and feed it to you.”

Electra’s eyes went wide, staring after Dinah as she cheerfully skated away, and was suddenly reminded that dining cars carried an assortment of cooking implements. Like knives. He rolled back into the shed, shuddering a bit at the threat. He was very fond of his spike. 

“So who was it?” Came the tired mumble from the pile of blankets on the berth in the back of the stall as Electra shut the door tightly. Clearly, Greaseball had no intention of getting up. 

“Your little dining car.” Electra provided. There didn’t seem to be much point in his getting back under the blankets now, so he instead perched himself on the edge of the berth. “Seemed she was worried about you.”

“Dinah?” That got Greaseball awake, making him struggle for a moment to sit up in the tangle of blankets. “Worried? Why?”

“Your little temper tantrum yesterday got some attention.” Electra said idly,

Greaseball frowned. “Shove off. You try working in the yards all day.”

“Speaking of-“ Electra was quite content to just stay in the shed all day, but he had work to report to. They both did.

Greaseball really didn’t want to go to work, but knew he had to. Best to stay on Control’s good side. He pushed himself off the berth and stretched, working out the kinks and sore parts in his limbs. The splashes of dried lubricant were especially noticeable on his black thighs and crotch.

“May I suggest stopping into the washrack first?” Electra was already planning on seeking out the yard’s washdown, he never showed up for work looking anything but his absolute best. “Unless you want everyone to know how well fucked you got last night.”

Greaseball automatically looked down, but couldn’t see anything past the curve of his belly. Not even his feet, by the Starlight the kits were getting big. He could feel the stiff stains, though, and brushed at his inner thighs a bit before following Electra out of the shed. 

The engine washdown was a fairly sizeable complex near the engine sheds, meant for keeping the engines of the railway clean and polished. There was a section for being washed in engine form, and another room built more like a communal shower for engines to wash themselves as mechs. 

Grabbing a bottle of soap and a brush from near the door, Greaseball turned on one of the showerheads and stepped under the spray. The water was quick to warm up, feeling very good as it ran over his body and removed all the dust and dirt that had accumulated on his frame. 

“Need someone to do your back?” Electra offered as he carefully removed his elaborate wig and set it aside before joining the diesel under the water. 

“Depends.” Greaseball drizzled some soap on his frame and started scrubbing, “I ain’t gonna get shocked, am I? I know electricity and water don’t mix too well.”

“I’ll have you know my frame is waterproofed.” Electra rolled his eyes, getting another brush to scrub at the diesel’s back. His black plating was still covered with mud and grass from their romp the night before. “Besides, a little shock can be nice.” Electra slipped his leg between Greaseball’s, rubbing his kneeplate against the diesel’s crotch. Just because they were here to get clean didn’t mean they couldn’t get dirty first. 

“You have a point.” Greaseball gasped, feeling his valve grow wet at the attention. He leaned back just a little to grind his ass against Electra’s front. Couldn’t hurt to have a bit of a morning pick-me-up, could it?

“Alright, boys, keep it in the shed.” Unfortunately for them both, the moment was interrupted by Poppa McCoy stepping into the washrack. The old steamer shrugged off his tender and tightly closed his firebox doors before turning on the showerhead opposite them. “Rusty told me about what you two got up to last night.”

“It wasn’t like we set out to traumatize the little steamer.” Electra reluctantly removed his knee from Greaseball’s crotch and returned to simply scrubbing the diesel’s back. “He should be more careful about running about the rails at night.”

Poppa chuckled. “That’s what I told him. With a pregnant diesel in the yards, I suppose we’re lucky you two aren’t getting it on in the middle of the marshalling yard.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Greaseball asked with an unhappy grumble. Yes, he was horny all the time, but he was no exhibitionist. He was quite capable of controlling himself until he was in private. 

“Just that your kind aren’t exactly known for discretion.” Poppa commented, using a seam brush to get the soot and dirt out of old joints. “How many are you having?”

“Four.” Greaseball bit out, reminded of the reason he usually avoided the old steamer. Sure, Poppa was wise and experienced, but he also had some pretty old-fashioned views about diesel engines that Greaseball was tired of hearing. “And that don’t mean I’m gonna rut in the middle of the yards like some animal.”

“I’ll make sure he gets plenty satisfied at night.” Electra smirked and wrapped arms around Greaseball, using the opening to gently rub suds across the diesel’s belly. The disgruntled rumble of that powerful engine changed to a happy purr instead. “And in the morning. And whenever he wants.”

“Carrying four, I’m sure they’ll keep you busy.” Poppa shook his head as he watched Electra continued to tease his partner by ‘cleaning’ the diesel’s most sensitive bits. The steamer was impressed by the surprising amount of control Greaseball was showing, though. The diesel was clearly getting revved up, but still pushed Electra away so that he could rinse off. Most diesels Poppa had known in the past would’ve just given in and let themselves be fucked against the wall. 

Having been blocked access to his favorite toy, that being Greaseball’s kit-heavy belly, Electra sniffed and began carefully polishing scratches and scuffs from his own gleaming armor instead. Greaseball wasn’t nearly so attentive, just making sure that all the dirt, grass, and stains were gone before turning off the shower spray and headed for the air blower to dry off. Electra raised his eyebrows as Greaseball left the washracks without a word, quickly grabbing his wig and resettling it on his head before following after the diesel. 

“What was that about?” Electra didn’t even have time to fully dry properly, looking down at the little water droplets on his plating with disdain. “I’m going to get water spots!”

“Nobody said you had to follow me.” Greaseball pointed out as he skated towards the freight yard. 

“And let you off all by yourself?” Electra scoffed. “What if you trip? Or something happens to the kits?”

Greaseball screeched to a halt and spun around. “I don’t need you takin’ care of me every second of the day, alright? Being pregnant don’t mean I’m an idiot, or I suddenly can’t do anything, or that I’m gonna fuck you in the middle of the yards.”

“Wha-“ Electra was taken a little aback by the sudden mood change. “Is this about what that old steamer said? I might like an audience sometimes, but if you don’t want people watching-“

“No, it ain’t that.” Greaseball frowned as he tried to find the words. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have. “You probably aren’t old enough to remember when steamers were all over the place. They’d run all the major railways for as long as anybody knew, and didn’t like us new diesels taking things over. Used to be real popular to call diesels animals, like we weren’t as good as other rolling stock.” It had been a very long time since those days, but it had left an impression. 

“Well that’s stupid.” Electra said blandly. “As if steamers are any better than diesels. Electricity is the future, not combustion. But at least you don’t chew coal and spew smoke all over the place.”

That didn’t really help much, but Greaseball didn’t say anything more. It was his own fault for getting involved with such an arrogant electric. Instead, he just gave Electra a little shove. “You probably have a train or job to do. Go be a superior electric and pull some freight or something.”

Electra knew where he wasn’t wanted. With a roll of his eyes, the flashy engine skated off to Victoria station to receive his tasks for the day. 

Greaseball, meanwhile, reported to the shunting yards. Another day of mind-numbing tedium. The diesel rubbed a hand across his belly, feeling one of the kits shift inside, and idly wondered if the little ones would be diesels or electric. 

 

Very little changed in the shunting yards from day to day. Freight cars lounged around the many sidings, sometimes wrestling or fighting to keep entertained as they waited for an engine to come pick them up. As Greaseball rolled into the yard, a loud whistle from Flat Top announced to everyone the diesel’s arrival. 

“Hey, GB.” The brick car called, “Heard you was out having a real good time last night. Is it true what they say, is sex really better while pregnant?”

Greaseball frowned as he came right up to Flat Top, looking at the flatcar with as much disdain as he could muster. Ever defiant, Flat Top stared right back. Since becoming an honorary member of “the gang,” the young flatcar had grown much more outspoken and felt confident enough to even call out Greaseball. After a moment’s staring contest, Greaseball grinned. “Why, Flathead? You plannin’ on finding someone willing to knock you up to find out?”

The other freight roared with laughter as Flat Top reddened a bit. “So what if I did? We could use some more flatcars around here.”

“You’re best off waiting for Control to buy some rejects from another railway, just like everybody else here. This ain’t exactly all it’s cracked up to be.” Though he still had three months left to go, Greaseball already felt the strain of the kit’s increasing weight. Ankles aching by the end of a long day on his wheels, backstrut sore from the extra bulk around his middle. Not that he was about to let anybody find out about all that, he had a reputation to keep up after all. “Now get back in line you all. There’s a run to the brick factory to make today.”

Greaseball started forwards, ready to grab Flat Top’s couplings and give the car a shunt, when the diesel suddenly stumbled and nearly fell. Fortunately Flat Top, despite his skinny frame, was strong enough to catch the engine and push him back upright. “The hell, Greaseball? You alright?”

“I- yeah. Fine.” Greaseball said roughly, breathing a little harder than normal as he steadied himself. He’d almost gone down. All that shit telling Electra he didn’t need looking after, and then he almost fell over. Giving both feet an experimental roll, Greaseball at least found the reason why as one wheel stuck and shuddered. “I’ve blown a fucking bearing.”

“Starlight, boss. You sure?” Flat Top stared at the diesel, who’s eyes were still wide, before shifting his gaze a little lower. Cautiously, the flatcar reached a hand towards Greaseball’s unprotected, round middle. “What about-“

Though shaken, Greaseball still had the presence of mind to slap Flat Top’s hand away. “I’m fine, Flathead. Just need to change the bearing.” With that, the diesel limped off to find an unoccupied loading platform to have a sit down. 

 

A few minutes later, a black diesel rolled into the yard with a short train behind him. Oil, the youngest member of Greaseball’s “gang,” had been sent to rescue several derailed boxcars. Fortunately the yard now had the services of the crane truck Wrench, which made getting derailed trains back on the tracks much easier than it had been in the past. 

Oil sat for a little bit and waited for someone to come take his train, before changing shape and looking around the yard in confusion. Finally, his gaze fell on Flat Top. The freight car often hung out with the gang, and was a familiar face. “Hey, Flat Top. You know where Greaseball is?”

“He had a bearing lock up on him. Wandered off that way.” Flat Top jerked a thumb over his shoulder, very determined to not look concerned at all about what had happened to the big diesel. 

“Oh.” Oil hestitated, unsure of what to do, before deciding he would just have to shift freight himself. He was a little surprised, though, when he turned around and saw that Wrench was gone. “Wha- where’d she go?”

Being a repair truck, Wrench was always alert and aware. Keeping an eye out for ailing rolling stock was her job, though whether it was to repair them or to exploit that weakness depended on the whims of her master. What Electra would want in this case was easy to guess. All of the electric’s components could tell that this wasn’t just another fun fling for their master, Electra was actually invested in Greaseball and their developing offspring. He wouldn’t like to hear of the diesel being in anything but peak condition. 

At least locating Greaseball was an easy task. Wrench just had to follow the sound of frustrated growling until she found the yellow diesel seated on the edge of a loading dock. It seemed that Greaseball was attempting to get his foot up into his lap to examine his wheels, but the size of his belly meant that he could not bend far enough to grasp his ankle with his hand no matter how hard he tried. Wrench had to put a hand on her mouth to conceal an amused grin as she watched Greaseball, one hand on his belly and the other stretched out as far as it would go, make another go at lifting his foot off the ground and getting it into his hand. He didn’t come anywhere close enough, and let his wheels drop back down to the ground with a curse. 

As entertaining as watching him continue would be, Wrench figured it was best to come forward before the diesel managed to hurt himself or his young. Schooling her expression back to neutral, the repair truck rolled up. “Do you need assistance?”

Greaseball immediately straightened, not wanting to be caught in such a compromising position by anyone, but relaxed slightly when he saw it was only one of Electra’s components. “Oh, it’s you. Ratchet or something, right? I’ve blown a bearing, got a spare?”

“It’s Wrench.” The repair truck corrected with a hint of irritation even as she knelt down and grabbed the diesel’s ankle in one hand, lifting his wheels off the ground so she could have a better look. Wrench spun each of the wheels on his foot, watching as they all spun smoothly. Except the outside front wheel, which ground to a halt after only one revolution. “You’ve been neglecting your oiling.” Wrench observed as she deftly removed the wheel and popped out the bearings. 

“Well, as you saw. I can’t exactly reach my feet anymore.” Greaseball said with a frown. It was embarrassing, not being able to oil his own damn wheels, but the diesel had figured that he wasn’t really rolling very fast lately anyway and it couldn’t hurt to neglect his oiling for a little while. Clearly, he’d been wrong. 

“Well then you should get someone else to do it for you.” Wrench admonished, pulling a new bearing from her storage and giving it a little shot of oil before pushing it into the wheel and reinstalling the wheel on Greaseball’s foot. She then proceeded oil all his other wheels as well. “I’m sure Electra would be quite willing.”

“Mr. Superior Electric?” Greaseball somehow couldn’t imagine Electra lowering himself to the task of oiling his wheels. “I’ll just go to the repair shed.”

“Our master is very taken with you.” Wrench set down his foot, then picked up the other to oil it as well. “Especially since you are so heavy with his young. I’m sure you could get Electra to do almost anything for you.”

“I ain’t some helpless breeder.” Greaseball wasn’t about to sit around and do nothing for the rest of the pregnancy. 

“No, but you do need help. You can’t expect to keep doing everything as usual with these four in the way.” Finishing with his other foot, Wrench reached up and placed a hand against the curve of his belly. Greaseball tensed up at the touch, even as one of the kits pushed gently against her palm. “They are doing well. Still on the small side. You should be milking Electra dry every night, until he can’t put out anymore.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” The two had certainly been working towards the goal the last couple nights. 

“And then. You could find some other willing contributors.” Wrench’s hand drifted from his belly to the diesel’s inner thigh, rubbing her thumb against the sensitive metal. The repair truck grinned when she heard Greaseball’s engine rumble powerfully in response. 

“And- and I suppose that’d be you components.” Greaseball shuddered, legs opening a little wider to allow the repair truck better access. 

“Oh yes.” Wrench asserted. “You cannot have our master without us as well. You can have us one at a time, or in a group, it doesn’t matter.”

The idea of getting the whole group of clearly very talented electrics was quite tempting. Greaseball let out a hiss as a single finger found his codpiece and began tracing circles on the heated metal, ready to have at least Wrench right then and there, when the distant sound of a steam whistle jerked him back to reality. He was sitting right in the middle of the yard, a little out of sight but still in public, ready to bare his valve at the slightly provocation. 

Greaseball jerked away from Wrench’s hand, forcing her to back off as he hefted himself to his wheels. “Thanks for the bearing. I have work to do.” With that, he skated back off towards the freight yard.

Wrench sat back on her heels and watched him go, eyes appreciating his impressive form as he left. Her plan for a little fun between jobs had been foiled, but she didn’t plan to let Greaseball go quite that easily.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is ending up a lot kinkier than I anticipated. Oops?

After his blown bearing and subsequent shake up, it only took a few more hours for Greaseball to end up getting dismissed from work early to head back to his shed. The diesel was grateful for the break; between Electra in the shower that morning and Wrench in the yards a little later his body felt like it was on fire. Lubricant pooled under his codpiece uncomfortably, and Greaseball felt almost desperate to get something into his valve. He hated that his body could take control like this, but had to admit it was very difficult to work through the haze of lust fogging his mind. 

“How am I gonna deal with three more months of this?” Greaseball grumbled as he let himself into his shed and collapsed on the couch just inside the door. He knew it was just the pregnancy making him horny, but that didn’t help much when the arousal flared. And, just his luck, for once there weren’t any bothersome electrics around to help him with it.

Leaning forward, Greaseball clicked on the small television that sat against the wall. Human television wasn’t terribly interesting as a whole, but the channels that broadcast music and musical performances at least made good background noise and some visual interest when he was otherwise bored. 

Unfortunately, that afternoon the music channel wasn’t nearly a good enough distraction. Greaseball couldn’t sit still, constantly shifting as he tried and failed to find a comfortable position. The kits were kicking and squirming in his gestation chamber, only adding to the discomfort that the burning need in his body created. 

“Come on, can’t I get a moments peace from you four?” Greaseball muttered, rubbing his hands on his belly in an attempt to soothe the active kits. He was distracted enough that he didn’t notice the door to his shed crack open and a slim figure slip inside until the newcomer spoke.

“Are you in need of assistance?”

Greaseball jerked in his seat and looked up to see that, once again, Wrench had caught him in a compromising position. This time, however, they were in private and no one else was around to see. The diesel leaned back in his seat and spread his legs a little wider. “Well, that depends on what you’re offering.”

“How about, relief?” Wrench knelt down in front of him, reaching out to press one hand firmly against his codpiece. Greaseball gasped, the cover to his valve sliding away almost immediately in anticipation. The repair truck rubbed at the heated metal around his valve, planning her angle of attack as Greaseball fisted his hands at his sides and jerked from the sudden stimulation. 

Making a decision, Wrench leaned back and removed her headpiece to reveal a shock of shortly-cropped blue and red hair. She then untied the heavy welding apron from her waist and set it aside. The bulky items would only get in the way. With her coverings set safely on the floor, Wrench was able to tuck her head in underneath the curve of the diesel’s belly to reach his dripping valve. Both hands went to Greaseball’s powerful thighs to steady herself as she lapped at the lubricant pooling at his entrance. 

The unfamiliar feel of Wrench’s tongue on his valve made Greaseball give a deep groan, engine revving as the talented repair truck licked and nibbled at the soft, sensitive metal. He reached down and put one hand against the back of Wrench’s head, holding her there, while the other hand continued to rub at his belly. “H-how did you get so good at this?”

Wrench didn’t answer, just humming contemplatively. The vibration made Greaseball tense, fingers digging into her short hair as his legs twitched, wheels rolling against the floor. He had very rarely used his valve before this whole pregnancy business, and the stimulation was almost more than he could handle. 

Removing one hand from Greaseball’s thigh, Wrench pressurized her spike and began stroking it even as she continued mouthing the diesel’s valve. Though she could easily bring him to overload just using her tongue, the repair truck knew that what Greaseball really needed was metal and materials for the kits. As every part of the diesel began to quiver, hovering on the edge of overload, Wrench suddenly left his valve and got to her wheels to stand over him. Greaseball’s engine whined at the loss even as he shifted to lean further back, allowing her to line up with his valve and press her spike in. He was already so revved up it only took a couple of thrusts before he overloaded, taking Wrench with him a few moments later. The repair truck stayed inside as they both came down from the high, making sure that nothing leaked out. 

“Awww, Wrench. You were supposed to wait for us.” 

Engine and repair truck looked towards the door to see that while they’d been distracted, more components had come into the shed. 

“My apologies, Joule.” Wrench licked the lubricant from her lips and gently slid out of Greaseball, not bothering to replace her coverings as she looked at her fellow components. “He was very tempting.”

“Don’t I know it.” Joule giggled, looking over the sprawled form of Greaseball with admiration. She couldn’t wait to get a piece of that herself. “But did you leave enough for round two?”

“Hey now.” Greaseball struggled to force himself back upright. “I’m no one-shot wonder. I’ve got enough in me to keep it going all night.”

“Well then. What do you think Purse?” Joule turned to look at the armored truck standing behind her. 

A faint smirk graced Purse’s white lips. “I think we should test that statement. Volta?”

Next to him, Volta began to pull items out of one of her storage compartments. They looked like padded cuffs and chains. As Greaseball pushed himself off the couch he began to feel maybe just a bit worried about actually being able to keep that promise. 

“So where’s your master? And that other truck, the one with the guns?” Greaseball asked curiously as he headed for the berth. He knew that Electra had offered to let him get busy with the components, but had assumed the electric would at least be here to watch. 

“Electra is on an overnight train with Krupp. One of your neighboring towns has a weapons manufacturing company, yes?” Volta helped lift his wheels up onto the berth after he had sat down and locked one of the cuffs around his ankle. “They are picking up a shipment.”

“So why isn’t he with them?” Greaseball jerked his head towards Purse, who had the words “Armored” written clearly across his chestbox. 

“I only deal with money, darling.” Purse put a hand on his chest and pushed him down onto the berth,“Guns are Krupp’s department. And besides, if I was with them I wouldn’t get to be here.”

Though Greaseball usually took control in the berth, the promise of getting more like Wrench’s earlier treatment was enough for him to lie back and allow the components their way. He did get a little concerned, though, when cuffs were secured around his wrists and the attached chains led to the corners of the berth. Suddenly he was flat on his back with arms and legs outstretched, chained to the four corners of the berth and unable to move. 

“Hey, what the-?” Greaseball flexed, testing the strength of the chains. There was barely any play in them, holding fast as he strained at them. The diesel figured he could probably break either the chains or the cuffs if he really tried, they didn’t seem intended for holding a powerful mixed traffic locomotive like him, but he didn’t feel the need to go quite that far yet. 

“Well, we can’t have you moving, can we?” Volta trailed a hand down his side, making him hiss. “Tonight, electricity is taking charge. And you are going to lie back and enjoy it.”

“No moving?” Greaseball wasn’t sure he liked that. It left his middle vulnerable, left him unable to protect his kits. His legs jerked at the chains holding them as he attempted to curl up, though he didn’t get very far with his hands and ankles restrained. Still, his engine growled angrily as he strained at the cuffs. The leather creaked under the pressure, beginning to give way. 

“Shhhhh.” Fortunately, Wrench sensed what the problem was. She silently told the other components to back off before very gently laying her hands on the diesel’s belly and rubbing softly in a light massage. As she did so, her engine crooned a soothing note. “No harm will come to you or your young. And if you lie back, we will make you feel very good.”

Slowly, Greaseball relaxed. The hands on his gravid middle were quite nice. Recently, the diesel had decided belly rubs were his new favorite activity. (Not that he’d admit that to anyone.) The components were tied to Electra, they wouldn’t do anything that might damage him or the kits. He just needed to let them have their way.

Satisfied that he was no longer panicking, Wrench climbed up onto the berth and settled herself between Greaseball and the wall of the shed. From here, she could continue her belly rub while still making room for the other components to work. 

Volta approached first, kneeling between Greaseball’s spread legs to play with his codpiece. The diesel’s valve was still bared, but that wasn’t the part the freezer truck wanted just yet. Instead, she rubbed at the cover to his spike until Greaseball gave in and pressurized it. 

“So how are the kits?” Volta asked conversationally as she wrapped a hand around his spike. 

“Wha-?” Greaseball was thrown a bit by the sudden question. The kits were still squirming a bit in his gestation chamber, but Wrench’s efforts were calming them down. “The kits are f- ahhh!” He couldn’t finish the thought when Volta gave his spike a tug. 

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.” Volta ran her fingertips down the diesel’s spike, feeling the knobs and textures along his length. 

“I said- aahh!” Once again, the second Greaseball attempted to speak his spike was stroked and the words failed him. “Quit that!”

Volta laughed quietly, shifting so that she could straddle the diesel’s hips and sink down onto his spike. And it was a very nice spike, girthy to fill her in all the right ways. It was too bad Greaseball couldn’t use it properly while he was pregnant like this. Volta would have a very nice toy to play with once the kits were born. 

Rocking her hips a little, Volta smiled at the groan that resulted and looked down to examine the rubbery surface of the diesel’s belly in front of her. “Oh, Wrench. Look at this.”

Wrench leaned over to see what the other component had found. There were six little bumps, arranged in two rows of three on either side of Greaseball’s midline, barely discernable from the black surface of his belly. Wrench rubbed a thumb over one of the bumps, encouraging it to swell a little even as Greaseball shuddered and attempted to move away from the touch despite his restraints. 

“Someone is preparing to fuel the kits.” Wrench explained with a little smile, stroking each of the little nubs in turn. “And I’ll bet they’re very sensitive too.”

She was proven right when she leaned over to suckle at one of the teats and Greaseball’s engine roared under her. They were sensitive enough for the diesel to overload suddenly with a shout, hips jerking a little and making Volta grab his thighs so she didn’t lose her seat. 

“Well, that was exciting.” Joule commented from the sidelines as she watched Greaseball go limp. “Must be my turn now.”

Greaseball groaned and turned his head to see that the dynamite truck appeared to be wearing some kind of false spike strapped to her waist. It was clearly silicone, bright pink and much larger than any spike Greaseball had ever taken before. “What is-“

“Our Joule is very special.” Purse explained, wrapping his arms around the smaller car from behind and running his hands down her abdomen. “She was built without a spike. Fortunately, we have found other ways to manage. Very satisfying ways.”

“That ain’t going in me, is it?” Greaseball couldn’t help but be a bit concerned as Joule hopped up onto the berth and settled herself just behind Volta. 

“I’m sure you can handle it!” Joule said confidently. “A big, strong diesel like yourself.” The dynamite truck rolled up one of the spare blankets and stuffed it under Greaseball’s ass, elevating his hips up so that she could get better access to his valve. Reaching down with one hand, she stuck two fingers into his valve to test how stretched out he was and spread them wide to make sure her strap-on would fit. 

“Hey, be careful down there!” Greaseball lifted his head, but between his large belly and Volta still seated on his spike he couldn’t see anything of Joule but her wild blonde and red hair. 

Joule laughed, positioning her strap-on at his entrance and preparing to push in. “Purse, I think it’s time to shut him up.”

“With pleasure.” Purse was suddenly on the berth and kneeling over Greaseball’s head, the money truck’s spike right in his face. 

“What’re you- Mmmph!” Greaseball tried to say something more, but suddenly found his mouth full of spike. 

“There’s a good diesel.” Purse stroked the engine’s head as he rolled his hips a bit. 

With Greaseball now no longer able to voice any protest, Joule carefully inserted her strap-on all the way to the hilt. The diesel squirmed as best he could under the weight of the components over him, but as Joule predicted he was able to take the full length of the toy just fine. The dynamite truck found a comfortable position and started to move, enjoying the muffled groans coming from the head of the berth. As she rocked, Joule wrapped her arms around Volta and began tracing the freezer truck’s familiar sensitive spots. Wrench was quick to join, taking Volta’s lips with her own. 

Unfortunately, Greaseball couldn’t see any of this because he was far too distracted by the spike in his mouth. Though he didn’t often do it, the diesel was no slouch at giving head and was having his own personal contest to see how quickly he could get Purse off. Things were complicated by the fact he had one component seated firmly on his spike and another buried deep in his valve. He moaned around Purse’s spike as Joule found a very sensitive spot somewhere deep inside him. 

“You are. Surprisingly good at this.” Purse gasped from above him. The money truck hadn’t expected the big, strong diesel to have much experience sucking others off. Clearly, he’d been wrong. 

Greaseball smirked only to howl a second later when someone tweaked one of his swollen teats. That vibration was what brought Purse over the edge, spilling his load into the diesel’s throat so that Greaseball had little choice but to drink it all down. 

Purse pulled out of Greaseball’s mouth and moved to lean beside the berth instead, watching the show playing out on the lower half of the berth. Volta had several fingers buried in Wrench’s valve as she and the repair truck continued to make out, while Joule’s wandering hands teased them both as the dynamite truck continued to thrust into the diesel underneath them. Volta overloading started a chain reaction that brought everyone else with her, including Greaseball as his engine roared and he weakly attempted to buck his hips even under the weight of the bodies on top of him. 

The only sound in the room for several long minutes was the sound of panting and the rumble of idling engines. Until Joule broke the silence with a little laugh. “Well, that was a good warm up. Who’s up for another go-round?”

 

It was morning by the time Electra returned to the AV trainyard. It had been a long haul delivery with Krupp all night, taking weapons from a nearby manufacturing plant to the large city several hours away. The electric engine would’ve much preferred to spend the night discovering new activities in the berth, but orders were orders. 

Reaching the diesel shed, Electra unhitched from Krupp and assumed his mech form. The electric engine stretched out his long limbs as he approached the door to Greaseball’s stall. Curiously, it was unlocked. Electra pushed the door open and made his way inside the dark shed, pausing long enough to turn off the television set playing some kind of inane human musical program. Next to the television set lay Wrench’s headpiece and apron. Well, at least Greaseball hadn’t spent the night alone. Continuing on, there in the back, quite a sight was spread out on the berth for him. 

Greaseball was sprawled out on his back, engine rumbling quietly as he snored. Curled up around him, like cats attracted to a warm spot, was Purse, Volta, Wrench, and Joule. Electra exchanged a glance with Krupp, amused at the state of his components, before reluctantly going to wake them. He’d love to let them all snooze the day away, but there were things to get done. 

“Well then.” Electra said loudly, hands on his hips. “You all had fun last night without me.”

The sleeping rolling stock on the berth stirred, stretching sore limbs and covering up intimate equipment. The components carefully moved off the diesel they had curled up on and stepped off the berth, running their hands through messy hair and trying in vain to brush stains and scuffs from their armor. 

“Go get cleaned up.” Electra waved his hands in dismissal. “You too, Krupp. I shall see you in the freight yard.”

The components skated out, leaving Electra to focus his full attention on the diesel still lying on the berth. “Enjoy the night, I take it?”

Greaseball groaned and slowly rolled onto his side, pushing himself into a sitting position. He felt stuffed in a way that had nothing to do with the bulk of the growing kits. Over the course of the night, he was pretty sure he’d drained all four components of all their reserves. All that extra weight sat heavily in his belly, tugging at his backstrut as he tried to get off the berth. 

Electra chuckled and helped pull Greaseball to his wheels, steadying the exhausted diesel. “I take it they treated you well last night?”

“That’s one word for it.” Greaseball put a hand to his head and tried to return some order to his mussed hair. His other hand ran down his belly, a shiver running up his backstrut when he brushed one of the raised little nubbins that had developed. 

“Oh, what’s this?” Electra leaned over curiously, reaching out with on hand to tweak one of the bumps. 

“They’re for feeding the kits.” Greaseball slapped the electric’s hand away irritably. “They ain’t toys, don’t touch ‘em.”

“How cute.” Electra said with a smirk, shaking the sting out of his hand. Diesels really were interesting engines, the only ones to develop teats on their abdomen as opposed to high on the chest like most rolling stock. Of course, no other rolling stock had so many in a single litter. 

Greaseball’s lip curled at being called ‘cute’ before he slowly made his way out of the shed towards the fuel depot. He needed a full can before he could even make it to the washracks before work. Maybe two cans. Being fucked all night by four freight cars took a lot out of an engine.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me that I've been totally ignoring what time of year it is in this fic. I'm assuming here that the international championship races occur in early september/end of summer, making the in-fic time mid February. Gee, what holiday does that coincide with?

It took some serious effort, but eventually Greaseball managed to drag himself from the fuel depot to the washrack and finally to the shunting yards. As he moved, his body worked at converting all the extra weight sitting in his supply tank to usable material. Unfortunately, it was a very slow process. To top it off a light rain had started up overnight, soaking everything in the yard and causing water to run in little rivulets down his body. The sensation wasn’t really unpleasant, but it was distracting. 

“You look exhausted, boy!” 

Greaseball cringed as the booming voice of Poppa McCoy preceded the old steamer’s arrival. Well, if he already looked tired might as well live up to it. Greaseball groaned and sat himself down on a loading dock platform. “I had a long night, alright?”

“But productive, I hope?” Poppa settled down next to the younger diesel. “Though I know that fancy electric engine was out on a run all night.”

“Well, four of his components were here.” And very eager to show how . . supportive they were of their master’s new relationship. 

Poppa chuckled in understanding. “No wonder you’re tired. Look, I have things covered here. Why don’t you report to the coach yard and do some switching there today?”

Spending all day with the coaches was far preferable to the idea of working in the freight yard, but Greaseball still frowned. “I don’t need some special accommodations. I’m fine here.”

“You may not want special accommodations, but you’re getting them anyway.” Poppa insisted. “Like it or not, you can’t keep going on the way you’ve been. You’ve got the little ones to think about.”

“I know that!” Did the old steamer really think he could forget about the kits? When their weight sat so heavily around his middle and their little movements kept distracting him as he tried to work? 

“Well then go on and get to the coach yard.” Poppa insisted. “Besides that, I know Dinah’s been worried and will probably like seeing you.”

It would be nice to see Dinah. Greaseball heaved himself back to his wheels with a groan and skated off towards the portion of the marshalling yards where the coaches spent their time. The surroundings were nearly the same, lines and lines of tracks surrounded by sheds and buildings, though things were a little nicer here than in the freight yards. There were washracks for the coaches to keep themselves clean and polished, and instead of the sounds of wrestling and sparring that filled the freight yard the air rang with giggles and gossip as the coaches helped each other neaten their hair and arrange their clothes. As the public face of the railway there was a lot of pressure on the coaches to be presentable at all times. There was even a roof over part of the yard, giving the coaches a place to shelter from the rain.

At least in the coach yard, Greaseball wouldn’t have to worry about rude comments and protests from the rolling stock he was shifting. There was, however, an extremely high likelihood of him getting his ass groped at least once. Normally such attention didn’t bother him. In fact, Greaseball had always greatly enjoyed the attention he received from the coaches. At the moment, though, his protective instincts were in overdrive and any foreign touch was automatically interpreted as a threat. The last thing he needed was to have to explain why he’d punched a coach when she copped a feel. 

There was one coach who’s attention was not unwelcome, however. As Greaseball entered the yard he heard someone yell his name loudly and had barely a moment to prepare before Dinah threw her arms around him in a big hug. 

“It’s good to see you.” The dining car pulled back a bit to look him over. “Oh, look at how big you’re getting. The kits are doing well?”

“Yes, they’re fine.” Greaseball shifted a little uncomfortably when Dinah pressed a hand to his belly. The little ones were at least resting and not moving around. Still, he didn’t entirely appreciate the reminder of how fat he’d gotten. 

“So what are you doing in the coach yard?” Dinah at least got the hint and didn’t let her hand linger, moving to take his arm instead. “I thought you were on freight duty.”

“That old steamer McCoy decided I needed a break today.” Though Greaseball didn’t show it, he was actually grateful for the time off from the freight yards. Besides how tired he was, everything ached. From the extra weight he was carrying around and from the marathon session he’d had the night before. “Had a long night.”

“You do look exhausted.” Dinah noted. “Kits keeping you up at night?”

“Nah, not them.” Though the kits liked to be more active at night, they didn’t bother him that much. At least, they didn’t yet. “It’s that darn electric and his components.”

“Electra? Why would he-“ It didn’t take long for Dinah to come to the obvious conclusion, face turning a bit red. “Oh! Of course. Well, uh, are you two planning on anything for tomorrow?”

“What’s tomorrow?” Greaseball asked in confusion. Without trains to pull, and therefor a timetable to follow, the diesel had lost all track of the month and date. He didn’t even know what day of the week it was, to be honest. 

“It’s Valentine’s Day, silly.” Dinah gave him a little smack on the arm. 

“What?” Most rolling stock paid only the barest attention to human things like holidays, except to know when special trains would be needed. Greaseball had certainly never put any particular attention to celebrating holidays even when he and Dinah had been together.“Why would I do something for a human holiday?”

“Because it’s a holiday for romance!” Dinah put her hands on her hips. Unlike engines and freight cars, most coaches loved human holidays. They interacted with people on a day to day basis, after all, and got very excited about the special excursions and decorations holidays brought. “You’ve got a new mate, you should do something!”

“He’s not my mate.” Greaseball immediately retorted. Yeah, the electric was a good screw. And seemed pretty invested in the growing kits. But he still barely knew the arrogant, self-centered engine. 

“Still. We’re having a party at the coach shed tomorrow night. I’m going with CB, you and Electra should come too.” Dinah pushed. She was so worried that Greaseball might end up raising his kits alone, that he might not find someone else who cared for him. Plus, Electra was a very handsome engine and the two made a gorgeous if unconventional couple. “It could be a double date!”

“What?” Greaseball stared at the smaller dining car in surprise. Clearly she had been planning this. The coaches held parties at their shed around once a month, sometimes for holidays but usually just for a little fun. Greaseball had often gone in the past, mostly to enjoy the attention of the coaches fawning all over him, but hadn’t been to one since the races at the end of the summer. He certainly hadn’t planned on attending any now. 

Dinah, however, was very stubborn when she set her mind to something. “Great! We’ll see you and Electra tomorrow night. I’m sure CB will be thrilled.”

Greaseball watched her roll away to tell all her friends about it, wondering how he’d managed to get himself invited on a double date. And how he was going to tell Electra about it. 

 

The rest of the day went about as Greaseball predicted. Coaches giggled and blushed as he pushed them around the yard, sometimes letting their hands wander from the coupler loops to his ass or running fingers along his powerful arms. They weren’t as amorous as usual, though, and Greaseball wasn’t sure if it was because he had lost his title as champion or because the roundness of his belly so clearly signaled that he was already taken by someone else. 

Near the end of the work day, Rusty rolled into the yard with the daily local passenger train. Greaseball came to take the train, pushing the coaches over onto the siding nearest their shed, and backed away to see Rusty looking at him. 

“So I hear from Dinah you’re going to the party tomorrow night.” Rusty commented awkwardly, still trying to figure out what footing he and the diesel engine were on. “You and Electra?”

“Dinah invited me.” Greaseball shrugged, “I can’t say no to a pretty coach.”

“Uh, right.” Rusty was still getting used to the idea of Greaseball and Electra being together. The two big-shot, ego-centric racers who the steamer knew he’d seen fighting each other in the final race. Actually, thinking about it that way, maybe the two were made for each other. “Well, see you then, I guess. Me and Pearl are going too.”

Of course the two young lovers were. Well, as long as they didn’t try to turn the night into some kind of weird triple date, Greaseball didn’t care. The diesel still thought a first-class observation car was a bit out of the little steamer’s league, but apparently the two were making it work. “Right. See you then.” With that he turned and left, leaving Rusty standing there staring after him. 

Electra returned to the trainyard a little while later, shaking the rain from his mohawk as he made his way quickly towards Greaseball’s shed. He hated rain. Though his body was well water-proofed, the moisture was always hell on his hair and sometimes affected his circuits. 

“I can’t believe Control made me work in the rain.” Electra complained as he shoved open the door to the shed and came inside, giving himself a full-body shake just inside the door. “Give me one of those blankets you have hoarded so I can dry off.”

“Well you have to get used to it.” Greaseball looked up from where he was lounging on the couch, still a bit damp from the day himself. “It rains this time of year. And you can’t have one of the blankets. They ain’t towels.”

“But you’ve got a whole stack of them.” Electra went back to the berth and paused in surprise to see that most of the blankets that had been folded under the berth were now piled in the corner. “What the-?”

“I’ll get back to it in a bit when I’m dry.” In a fit of boredom, Greaseball had found himself throwing the blankets and soft things he had been collecting around and messing about with them. He’d stopped, though, when he realized he was still wet from the rain and didn’t want to get the blankets damp as well. “Don’t touch anything.”

Electra threw up his hands and decided to leave it be. Instead, he joined the diesel on the couch and leaned back in a carefully casual pose. “Control is lucky he purchased me. You’ve got a lot of factories around here that don’t want dirty diesel exhaust in their nice buildings.”

“Dirty-“ Greaseball’s engine grumbled as he looked over at the electric with a frown. “You know, the kits will probably be diesels. What’ll you do then?”

That hadn’t really occurred to Electra yet. He had mated with a big, powerful diesel; his young would probably resemble their carrier. The electric shifted to wrap an arm around Greaseball, pressing a hand against the diesel’s belly. Inside, one of the kits shifted under his palm. “The offspring of the two most attractive engines in the world? I’m sure they’ll be gorgeous whatever their type.”

That placated Greaseball a bit, relaxing as he enjoyed the warm hand on his middle. It seemed that the electric and his components were the only ones who could touch him this intimately without making him defensive. When he was curled up like this, Electra’s arms around him and the kits safe in his belly, Greaseball wanted nothing more than to just stay there forever. As his mind and body slowly turned to relaxed goo, he at least managed to remember the promise he had made earlier. “Oh yeah. The coaches are having a party tomorrow night. Dinah asked me to come and bring you with.”

“Like a date?” Electra asked with a smirk, “Sounds fun. Will this party be anything like the last one I attended here?”

That was right. The last party Greaseball had been at was the one where the kits had been conceived. “Drunken singing and dancing, with a back room for getting dirty. That’s usually how they go.”

“Well then. I’ll have to be there.” Cuddling closer, Electra’s touches turned a little more teasing. “For a small trainyard, you manage to get some good high grade here.”

With a groan, Greaseball remembered that he couldn’t get drunk right now. The high grade oil wouldn’t necessarily hurt the kits, but the resulting lack of coordination might. There was no way he’d get served while this far along. “You’re not allowed to drink.”

“What?” Electra stared at the diesel incredulously. Why would one go to a party if not to get drunk?

“I am not going to be the only sober person at this party.” Greaseball insisted. “If I can’t drink because of the kits, then you can’t either.”

Electra didn’t like the sound of that, but supposed that sacrifices had to be made. He’d been given strict instructions from Wrench that Greaseball was to be kept happy and relaxed for the sake of the young that he carried. No need to start an argument, “Well then. I guess I’ll just have to steer clear of the high grade won’t I?” 

Well that had been easy. Greaseball had expected a fight. Apparently, Electra really did care about him and the kits. His engine let out a pleased rumble as the electric continued to lavish attention on his midsection. Electra had moved off the couch now and was kneeling in front of him, licking at the little droplets of water that had beaded on the rubbery surface of the diesel’s belly. Then, while Greaseball was sufficiently distracted, the electric aimed a little lower and kissed one of the teats the diesel had developed. Electra had been thinking about how to get to play with these new toys all day. 

“Hey!” Greaseball stiffened at the feel of lips on a very sensitive area. He couldn’t help but moan, however, when Electra began to suck and nibble at the little nub. 

“These are very fun.” Electra moved his attention to another teat, using his hands to tease the ones that his mouth wasn’t occupied with. He was enjoying playing around, but wasn’t quite expecting to get a sudden mouthful of sweet oil after a particularly hard suckle. Both engines froze in surprise, Electra from the unexpected taste and Greaseball from the odd sensation. 

“What was-“ Greaseball ran his hand down his belly, surprised when he looked at his fingers and found a little sheen of oil. “That shouldn’t happen for another few weeks.”

“Well I’m not complaining.” Electra licked his lips before going back in for another drink. Greaseball actually mewled at the odd but pleasurable feeling, finding himself unable to move. As though his body was full of lead. It was a safety measure, to keep him still and content while the kits suckled, but this was no newborn at his teat. 

Electra only got two or three more sips before Greaseball’s stores ran dry. The diesel’s body hadn’t been converting for very long and hadn’t had time to build up much in reserve. Electra grinned and stood, observing his partner’s limp form with satisfaction. Carefully, he wrapped arms around Greaseball’s torso and pulled the diesel to his wheels. “Come on, let’s continue this in the berth.”

Greaseball allowed himself to be pulled to the back of the stall, though as he got to the berth he found himself wanting something else. “Mm. No, not the berth.” 

“What?” Electra stopped and watched as Greaseball lowered himself down onto the pile of blankets in the corner. The diesel hummed happily as he plucked at the blankets, arranging them into a roughly oval heap that he then settled down on top of. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable on the berth?”

“No.” Greaseball responded absently. He didn’t know why the floor was better, it just was. One thing he did know, he needed more blankets and soft things. There wasn’t enough yet.

Once he’d finished messing with the pile, Greaseball curled up as well he could around his belly protectively and started idling down to sleep. Electra could only watch as his chance for a little fun before bed slipped away. This could probably be blamed on the pregnancy, and the electric only knew one person to ask. 

Making sure Greaseball was safely asleep, Electra skated out of the stall and headed for the shed he knew his components were using. The group was a little confused to see their master visiting them, he had commanded them to steer clear so that he could have his diesel all to himself for the evening. 

“Get thrown out already?” Joule paused in the midst of playing with Wrench to snigger at the bemused look on Electra’s face. 

“I just need Wrench for a moment.” Electra came over and pulled Joule off the repair truck. “Go screw Volta.”

Joule laughed, but rolled off agreeably to do just that. Wrench, meanwhile, sat up and looked at her master irritably. “I don’t repair relationship problems.”

“I’m not having relationship problems.” Electra protested. Sure, he and Greaseball weren’t exactly life mates, but so far things were alright. “I just want to know why he’s suddenly decided to sleep on the floor.”

“Sleep on the floor?” Wrench brushed off her lap and closed her valve cover to be a little more respectable. 

“He threw a bunch of blankets in the corner and decided to sleep on them.” Electra was still bemused by the diesel’s behavior. “Even though he’s so fat he can barely get up and down from the floor anymore.”

Wrench rolled her eyes as she realized exactly what was bothering the electric so much. “He’s just nesting. A pregnant engine is going to want a safe, soft place for the kits when they’re born. A berth is too high off the ground, they might fall. Get your mate some soft pillows or blankets and I’m sure he’ll let you in with him.”

Soft pillows or blankets. Right. Electra would keep an eye out while he worked the next day for good nesting materials. Maybe it would make a nice gift before the party the next night, promising him a little fun afterwards. For now, it looked like he’d be spending the night on the berth alone. It occurred to Electra he should probably learn something about pregnancy if he was going to try and care for his diesel.


	10. Chapter 10

Sunlight filtered through the high, narrow windows of the diesel shed, falling across Greaseball’s eyes and making him stir fitfully. He was warm and lying on something very comfortable. Much more comfortable than his berth. However, he was also noticeably alone. With a grumble, Greaseball opened his eyes and was confused to see the berth several feet away. 

“What am I doing on the floor?” Greaseball shifted, observing the pile of soft blankets and pillows he was snuggled into. 

“You don’t remember?” Electra skated into view, already looking infuriately awake and ready for the day. “You refused to use the berth last night and insisted on your nest instead. I tried to join you and you growled at me.”

His nest? The last thing Greaseball remembered, he’d been on the couch. With Electra suckling from him. The diesel turned red even as he struggled to escape the very comfortable nest he had created. He had often heard of pregnant rolling stock “nesting” but had assumed it was just talk. Not some kind of deep-seated need that had him nicking blankets from the freight shipments without even noticing until he was already back at his shed. Greaseball hated the way his body could just do things without his conscious agreement.

Electra watched as Greaseball fought to stand up before finally taking pity on the diesel and pulling him to his wheels. “I can’t leave you alone, can I? Every time I turn around, you’ve sat down somewhere and can’t get back up.”

“Shut up.” Greaseball pulled away from the other engine’s hands, “You try lugging around these four all the time. You realize I’ve gained nearly ten tons?”

“Poor diesel.” Electra crooned, leaning in for a quick kiss. Greaseball didn’t turn away from this, at least. “Good thing I’m here. Maybe I should assign Krupp to you during the day. How about that?”

“I don’t need a babysitter.” Greaseball ended the kiss and pushed the electric away. “If you want to help, go get me some oil. I gotta replace what you drank last night.”

Electra smirked at that memory. They’d definitely have to do that again sometime. With a little wave, he skated out and headed for the fuel depot. 

 

Reluctantly, Greaseball did have to admit that it was nice having someone looking after him. He really was starting to feel restricted by the weight and bulk of the kits. Though Electra loved to tease, the electric had still gone out and gotten him his morning fuel without a fuss and even bent down to oil his wheels without protesting. Greaseball munched on a cracker as he entered the freight yard, refilling a supply tank that was already empty despite having been filled to the top the day before. The kits were just taking so much material for their bodies, and now that his fueling system was producing oil for the young as well Greaseball had needed to nearly triple his normal fuel intake. 

A little later in the day, a freight train rolled into the yard carrying some kind of equipment. Freight blankets, heavy and thick, covered the delicate cargo and protected it from the tie-down straps used to secure it to the flatcars. Humans unloaded the cargo, folding up the thick freight blankets and setting them aside, and before Greaseball even knew what he was doing he had several of the blankets in his hands and was skating towards his shed. 

“Uh, boss?” Several of the diesel’s gang watched him go with some confusion. Greaseball had been somewhat distant from them ever since losing the big race, and now here he was stealing things from the yard. 

Greaseball stopped where he was, looking down at the blankets in his grasp with a bit of surprise. When had he grabbed those? 

“You okay, Grease?” Gook stepped forward first, unable to hide his concern for the older diesel. 

“Yeah, fine.” Greaseball shook his head a little bit, holding out the blankets he had grabbed. “Here, you can take these back to the yard.”

“Aren’t they for your nest?” For once, Gook refused an order from his boss. “You, uh. Should probably keep them.”

“In fact, we brought more!” Oil suddenly piped in from behind his older brother. Two more gang members, Tank and Lube, came forward with arms full of things. Blocks of foam normally used to help support awkward loads, old cushions of the kind usually thrown out when a chair car was reupholstered, and old drapes that had probably been taking up space in a shed somewhere. It was all a little dirty, but it was soft and cushy. Perfect for a nice nest. 

Greaseball stared, speechless at the offerings. There was some kind of emotion welling up inside, one he couldn’t name, so instead he just coughed roughly. “What’s all this?”

“You do have a nest, right?” Tank asked anxiously. “We noticed you taking stuff the last few weeks. I know the kits aren’t here yet, but when they are they’ll need someplace comfortable.”

“I can still remember our carrier’s nest.” Lube said softly. “Just a little bit. Just that it was warm and safe.”

Though the diesels were all adults, Greaseball couldn’t help but be reminded how young they were. Separated from their parents as soon as they were weaned and auctioned off to the highest bidder. The group was lucky they had all been purchased by the same railroad. 

“Yeah. I got a nest.” Greaseball felt odd admitting it, even to his gang. “This stuff is alright for it. You, uh. You done good, guys.”

The gang all grinned, looking pleased at the faint praise. 

“Do you think we could see? Maybe?” Oil picked at his finger joints. “Your nest I mean. Just a little?”

They really wanted to see his nest? Greaseball was tempted to say no, but his gang weren’t just random engines. They were, well, his only real family. Greaseball was like most diesels, removed from the trainyard where he was born the second he could be weaned and placed with other young engines his age in a large engine shop’s facility until he was old enough to be brought before potential buyers. He had no connection to the engine that had bore him, or littermates that he might have had, and even his class was mostly retired from US railways now.

“Well, I ain’t gonna carry all this shit back to the shed myself.” Greaseball waved for the younger diesels to follow him as he turned and continued towards the shed. The gang scrambled to gather up their offerings and skated after their leader. 

The plan had been to dump all the stuff in the back of his stall to mess with later, but when Greaseball saw his nest looking sad and sparse he couldn’t help but settle down into it and start arranging the new materials. Foam and cushions were stuffed into the outer rim, creating a low wall that shielded the bowl-shaped depression inside while the drapery was pressed into the bottom to create a nice soft surface. And then, when he felt satisfied with the new shape, he couldn’t manage the energy to get back up. Right then, his body wanted nothing more than to take a nice afternoon nap. 

Looking up at his gang, who were still standing there watching him with a mixture of fascination and maybe a little longing, Greaseball realized he didn’t want to sleep here alone. “Any of you got work to do?”

The four shook their heads. 

“Piston and Gear are covering freight work today.” Oil offered, inching a little closer. “Don’t you have stuff to do, boss?”

“All I’ve been doing is busywork, it’s nothing important.” Greaseball was well aware that any tasks he was given to do where just to keep him occupied and that his presence wasn’t really needed at the yard. He shifted slightly closer to the wall in invitation. The four younger diesels hesitated only a moment before eagerly joining him in the nest. 

The sudden addition of four warm bodies to his nest was unexpectedly comforting. As the gang curled up around him, pressing in close, Greaseball realized what he had been missing sharing the berth with Electra. The rumble of other diesel engines. It had been years since he’d slept this way, in a pile with other diesels. Not since he’d gotten his adult frame. 

“Hey, boss?” Tank murmured quietly. He was curled up so that his face was only a few inches from the older diesel’s middle. Gently, Tank reached forward and laid a hand on Greaseball’s belly. “You think the kits will like us?”

Greaseball let out a deep rumble as he felt the kits shift inside his gestation chamber. It was probably just because he was pregnant, but something about the younger diesels curled around him made him want to just pull them close and never let them go. “Course they will. You’re my gang, right?”

“We’re gonna be big brothers.” Gook whispered happily. His brothers around him let out pleased purrs, they were incredibly excited for the new engines to arrive. 

 

Electra was in a good mood as he rolled into the AV trainyard in the late afternoon. He’d had a freight run to make with his components, which wasn’t the most exciting thing ever, but had managed to pick up something very nice along the route. A storage warehouse next to one of the factories they visited had been tossing out a huge bundle of old theatre curtains and had been only too eager to let Electra haul them away. He’d also gotten a couple enormous stuffed animals, the type offered as prizes in carnival games. They were about the size of an adult human, which meant they were still fairly small to fully grown rolling stock. But perfect for newborn engines. 

Disconnecting from the overhead cantenary, Electra changed shape and pulled the gifts from where he had stowed them securely in Purse. As soon as his cargo space was empty, Purse shifted as well and brushed the dust from his torso with a grimace.

“Why did I have to carry that dirty fabric?” The money truck complained, plucking a bit of fluff from his shoulder box and looking at it accusingly. 

“Because you carry valuables.” Electra glared at his protesting component. “This may not have conventional worth, but it is important. These are for my offspring, you should be glad to carry it.”

Purse snorted. He didn’t care how testy his master’s pregnant diesel was, he was not intended for carrying old drapery. 

“Now leave me.” Electra waved his components off. “Get yourselves presentable for the party tonight. We must make a good showing of ourselves.”

Once he was alone, Electra shifted the heavy and somewhat awkward load in his arms and pushed open the door to Greaseball’s stall. He assumed the diesel was back already, since Greaseball worked fairly short hours, but was still surprised to hear the loud rumble of a diesel engine coming from the back. 

Skating towards the rear of the stall, Electra realized it wasn’t just one engine he was hearing. Tucked into the corner, curled up in a nest that was definitely larger than it had been that morning, Greaseball was fast asleep under four plain black freight diesels. Members of his ‘gang.’

“What-?” Electra set down the gifts he had brought onto the berth and looked over the scene. It was actually a little cute, seeing the group sleeping in a pile with their engines purring loudly. But it was Electra’s job to sleep with his mate, not the little freight diesels. 

One of the gang stirred at the noise. When he spotted Electra, he reached over to shake his brothers awake as well. The four very carefully extracted themselves from the nest and nodded to the electric engine before quietly leaving. Though they enjoyed spending time with their leader, they knew well enough not to get between Greaseball and his chosen mate. 

The sudden absence of the warm bodies around him was enough to wake up Greaseball. He groaned a bit and rubbed at his eyes, frowning as he spotted Electra standing over him and no sign of his gang. 

“Having an afternoon diesel cuddle puddle?” Electra knelt down to get on Greaseball’s level so the diesel didn’t have to look up at him. “And didn’t think to invite me?”

“The boys just picked up some stuff they wanted to give me.” Greaseball didn’t want to admit that he had honestly just been that tired. All night sex sessions left little time for sleep, and the drain of the growing kits necessitated plenty of rest. Afternoon naps might have to become part of his new routine for a little while. 

“Well then.” Electra was a little disappointed that someone else had managed to give Greaseball gifts before he did. Darn freight diesels. “Hopefully your nest needs more because I got something too.” He reached over to pluck one of the black velvet drapes from the berth and unfolded it. 

“You got-“ Greaseball accepted the fabric and ran his fingers over it. The drapes were dusty but very soft. Barely, he managed to resist the urge to rub his face against the fabric. What was with people suddenly giving him things? 

“Yes, and I found these too.” Electra set down the other drapes, then handed over the stuffed animals as well. There was a bear and a bunny, both about six foot tall and a little grimy but complete. 

Greaseball brushed a bit of dirt off the bear, tucking it and the bunny into the corner. The rest of the stuff could wait until later, he needed to shower and polish before heading to the party that was probably going to be starting shortly. “They’re great. I’m sure the kits will love them.” He shifted until his legs were under him before looking up at Electra. “Now help me up, we’ve got that damn party to get to.”

“What, no thank you? No show of gratitude for the nesting materials I worked so hard to acquire?” Electra whined a little even as he pulled Greaseball upright. 

“I said they’re great. What do you want, a thank you letter or something?” Greaseball rolled his eyes, then leaned in and gave the electric a quick kiss. “There’s your gratitude. Now come on, I gotta get cleaned up. Dinah’ll kill me if I show up at the party all dusty and dirty.”

Well, a kiss was better than nothing. Electra trailed after the diesel as they headed for the washrack, hoping he might get a little more in reward as they got cleaned. 

Unfortunately, those hopes were dashed when they reached the washrack and found another engine already there. Rusty was standing under a showerhead with a large brush in hand, scrubbing away the coal dust and dirt that always accumulated on a steamer by the end of the day. He stiffened when he saw Greaseball and Electra enter, eyes inevitably drawn to the diesel’s rather. . . prominent midsection. 

“Oh, hey Electra. Greaseball. You’re, uh, looking good.” Rusty said awkwardly, rubbing some soap into his mussy brown hair.

“You can just say fat, steam train.” Greaseball commented, turning on one of the other showerheads. “I won’t hold it against you.”

“But you aren’t fat! I mean, you kind of are.” Rusty was getting flustered. He was still trying to get used the entire idea of Greaseball being pregnant and having babies and just generally not being the bully he used to be. “But it’s all just the weight of the kits, right? Poppa says diesels get bigger than other rolling stock cause you have so many at once, so of course you’re gonna be fat.”

Greaseball couldn’t help but stare at the babbling steam engine. “I suggest you stop talking now while I’m still in a good mood.”

Rusty’s mouth shut with an audible click. He sheepishly remained silent as he very quickly finished washing off and dashed out to pick up Pearl. 

Electra couldn’t help but laugh as he watched the steamer go. “Poor thing. Look, he was in such a hurry he left his little hat behind.” The electric took off his wig and set it next to the rusty brown hat sitting on the shelf inside the door. 

“I swear that steamer would lose his head if it wasn’t screwed to his body.” Greaseball muttered, grabbing a brush and roughly scrubbing at his plating. 

“Come now, if you do that you’ll scratch your paint.” Electra gently removed the bristle brush from the diesel’s hand and replaced it with a large sponge instead. The electric lifted a rag himself and started cleaning off Greaseball’s back plating. 

“Hmph. Because anyone’s really gonna notice my paint when I’m like this.” Still, Greaseball accepted the sponge and softly ran it over his belly. 

“No excuse for letting your polish suffer.” Electra let his hands move lower, wiping dust and grime off the diesel’s ass and legs. Then, with a smirk, he pressed his hand against the other engine’s codpiece. “You know, I don’t feel as though I’ve been adequately thanked for bringing you gifts.”

“You aren’t supposed to expect something in return for gifts, jackass.” Still, Greaseball edged his legs a little wider to allow the electric more access and opened his valve cover. No bothersome steamers to interrupt them this time, no reason to not have a little fun. 

“Well then, I’ll just have to make sure we both enjoy this.” Electra sank down to his knees and rubbed Greaseball’s inner thighs, encouraging the diesel to spread a little wider so that Electra could get his face close enough to lick his partner’s valve. 

“Oooh.” Greaseball groaned, finding himself having to lean on the wall for support. “You’ve been taking lessons from your repair truck.”

“So you’ve experienced Wrench’s talent?” Electra grinned and went back in for more, “She learned it from me.”

Though the electric engine was well known for bragging, this time he was entirely correct in his assessment of his abilities. Greaseball’s engine roared as Electra’s tongue found some very nice places inside him, knees going weak at the attention. The spray of the water running over him only made his body more sensitive, legs shaking as they tried to support his weight. “I don’t think- aaahhh- I don’t think I can keep standing.”

Reluctantly, Electra pulled his face away from the diesel’s crotch and stood. Greaseball whined at the sudden loss as he turned around, only for Electra to suddenly press up against his front and get a firm hold of his ass. The electric hitched his hips and managed to get Greaseball off the floor, forcing the diesel to put his back against the wall and wrap his legs around Electra’s waist. 

“That alright?” Electra was very aware of the way Greaseball’s round middle was pressed firmly into his own abdomen, enjoying the feeling of the diesel’s warm, kit-heavy belly but wanting to make sure it wasn’t uncomfortable for his partner or their offspring. 

“Yeah, fine. Now get busy.” It wasn’t the best position for sex at his size, but Greaseball was too turned on to care at this point. 

With that clear command, Electra pressurized his spike and wiggled his hips a little to line up with the diesel’s valve and press in. Greaseball shut his eyes, hands gripping Electra’s shoulderplates tightly as the electric fucked him against the wall. Water running down their body amplified the electric charges that zapped between them, making the diesel’s traction motors whirr at the sudden power surge. Electra didn’t seem to notice, though, too busy nibbling at the sensitive parts of Greaseball’s neck to hear anything over the sound of the diesel’s engine. 

They didn’t have too much time to have fun with the party to get to, so Electra decided to make things quick. And besides that, Greaseball was really heavy and his arms were starting to hurt. Feeling overload coming, Electra gave one last thrust before emptying his load deep into Greaseball’s valve. The diesel followed a few seconds later, electricity arcing between their forms. Suddenly the overhead lights all went out, leaving the two in the dark. 

“I thought you said you were waterproofed.” Greaseball managed, leaning his head back against the wall as he fumbled for the handle to turn off the now-cold water. 

“Shut up.” Electra carefully set his partner back down, holding on for a minute until Greaseball was steady on his wheels. “Maintenance can deal with it later. They’ve at least got towels in this place, right?”

His response was a towel to the face.


	11. Chapter 11

By the time Greaseball and Electra made it to the coach shed the party had already clearly started. Music poured from the open door on the side, and multicolored lights flashed in the windows all down the side of the shed. Looks like that night they were going all out. 

“Well, at least they know how to throw a party here.” Electra nodded his head to the music before turning to notice that Greaseball was no longer standing next to him. “Aren’t you coming?”

“What? Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.” Still, Greaseball hesitated. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was currently missing half his outer plating, leaving himself very exposed at a party that no doubt most of the trainyard was attending. Leaving his vulnerable middle unprotected at a party that was crowded and probably already full of drunk rolling stock. 

Shaking himself a bit, Greaseball pulled himself from those thoughts. What was he scared of? He was a big, strong diesel. Nobody dared mess with him, even now. 

Approaching the door, Greaseball caught only a glimpse of the dancing inside before Ashley and Buffy suddenly emerged and blocked his view. The two coaches were grinning, never a good sign. 

“Hey, Greaseball!” Ashley put out her cigarette and tucked it into her bust. “Glad you showed. Dinah’s been looking for you.”

“But first!” Buffy pulled out a bundle of fabric from behind her back. “We made something for you.”

Greaseball didn’t like the sound of that at all. He accepted the gift and unfolded it, holding the thing up to the light. It appeared to be a shirt, hand-sewn out of paint drop-cloth (there were still drops of paint splattered across it, no doubt they’d ‘liberated’ it from the station-repainting project in Victoria) with short sleeves and large enough to actually fit him. Greaseball almost would’ve been grateful for the covering if not for the fact that someone had painted “BABIES ON BOARD” across the chest in block letters with an arrow pointing down. 

Electra leaned over to get a better look and burst out laughing as he read the slogan.

“The hell is this?” Greaseball balled up the shirt in his fist. Did they really think he was going to wear something like this?

“Oh, don’t do that. We worked so hard on it.” Ashley held out her hands, showing off the little prinpricks in the tips of her fingers. “I sewed all night!”

“And I painted the words on the front.” Buffy said proudly.”You have to put it on!”

“Yes, you have to.” Electra agreed, smile pulling at his lips as he took the shirt from Greaseball’s hand and shook it out. 

“Not you too.” Greaseball glared at Electra, but the electric was unrepentant. Before Greaseball could do anything else, Electra had pulled the shirt down over his head and the diesel was forced to put his arms through the sleeves or risk having them trapped against his side. 

“Perfect!” Electra declared, tugging the hem of the garment down over Greaseball’s middle. It didn’t quite cover, leaving a little sliver of belly visible at the bottom, but mostly fit. The electric engine knelt down to give that bit of exposed belly a kiss, grinning up at his partner. “You must wear it!”

“I hate all of you.” Greaseball muttered as he skated into the party. Avoiding eye contact with everyone dancing on the floor, he quickly spotted Dinah and CB seated at a table in the corner and went over to them. 

“Greaseball, you made it!” Dinah said happily, leaping up from her seat to give him a hug. 

“Nice shirt.” CB added with a smirk. 

“Shut it, Caboose.” Greaseball pointed a threatening finger in CB’s direction as he sank down into a free chair. 

“Where’s Electra?” Dinah asked as she retook her seat next to the diesel. “I thought you were bringing him?”

“What?” Greaseball looked around in surprise to see that, sure enough, Electra had not followed him in. “Dammit! He forces me into this stupid shirt and then doesn’t even bother to come inside.”

The lights in the shed suddenly flickered and went dark, the music cutting out at the same time. Those dancing out on the floor stopped in confusion, murmuring filling the shed as everyone wondered what had happened to the power. 

Greaseball was just thinking that maybe the earlier romp in the shower had managed to cut power to the entire trainyard when he noticed movement. Electra’s components, previously loitering unnoticed around the edges of the room, were moving towards the open door. Of course. That sparkly, electric bastard always had to make an entrance. 

A red glow appeared in the doorway, cast by the scrolling LED of Electra’s chestbox, before some of the lights came back full on and illuminated the shed in light. Revealing Electra posing impressively just inside the door surrounded by his components. 

“I. Have arrived!” Electra announced dramatically, tossing back his head. “Your party may now begin!”

Everyone stared as the electric made his way through the shed, components trailing behind him. Rusty, leaning against the back wall beside Pearl, startled when his hat was suddenly tossed his way by Electra. Barely catching it, the steamer muttered “Uh, thanks?” Electra merely nodded primly in response. 

Then, just as suddenly as it had gone out, the music returned and the lights dimmed back to their normal level. Trainfolk slowly went back to their conversations and their dancing as Electra approached the corner table where Greaseball sat. Waving away his components, the electric leaned down to give his partner a kiss on the cheek before sitting at the table. 

“You’re such an attention whore.” Greaseball frowned, rubbing a hand against his face. 

“One must always make an impressive entrance.” Electra retorted, crossing one leg over the other in a calculated show of casualness.

“What I want to know is how you managed to hack the lights and sound equipment.” CB leaned forward with interest. 

“I have very advanced computer systems.” Electra said flippantly, “Hacking your systems here is child’s play.”

“Really.” CB raised an eyebrow, “I happen to have quite advanced communications myself. Care to elaborate?”

Electra grinned, and soon the two were embroiled in deep conversation about electronics and computers and more things that Greaseball really didn’t care about. 

“Well, I’m glad you came.” Dinah commented, turning her attention away from the other conversation at the table to address Greaseball. “You missed the Christmas party.”

“I was a little busy.” Greaseball commented, hands laced in his lap and thumbs rubbing little circles on his belly. Really, he’d been mentally exhausted the last few months. Dealing with the pregnancy and all that came with it alone, he hadn’t had the energy to come and socialize. Things were easier now with a partner. 

“Yes, and how are you doing?” Dinah smiled as she watched him almost unconsciously petting his middle. “Has Electra been helping alright?”

“Well, if by helping you mean ‘being an insufferable ass.’” Greaseball shrugged. “It’s been okay. He fetches my oil, scrubs my back. I, uh, did make a nest. Electra picked up some stuff for it today.”

“That’s great.” Dinah said encouragingly. She couldn’t help but laugh a little at the mental image of big, tough Greaseball curled up in a nest, though. It sounded adorable. “He’ll also help raise the kits, right?”

Greaseball didn’t often think that far into the future. He was very much an engine that preferred to live in the “now.” But, he did think that the electric engine intended to stick around. “Yeah. I think he will.”

“I’m glad.” Dinah reached over to give his belly a little pat. “I’m sure that four will be a handful. I can’t wait for them to be here.”

He couldn’t either. Mostly so that he could stop feeling fat and useless and could get back to his proper work. Greaseball shifted uncomfortably. “So, uh. You been okay? With CB and all?”

“Oh, things have been great.” Dinah was just as happy to talk about herself. “CB is very sweet. It’s a little hard getting used to living with the other coaches again, though. We can’t do anything without everyone else finding out about it. And CB doesn’t have a shed of his own.”

“It’s made us very creative.” CB broke away from his conversation with Electra to lean over and give Dinah a kiss. “I’ve been teaching Dinah all kinds of new things. Apparently, she wasn’t very adventurous in her last relationship.” That last statement was directed straight at Greaseball, who grumbled at the implications. 

“Well, things certainly aren’t boring now.” Electra leaned over to drape himself over Greaseball with a grin. “We’ve been having all kinds of fun. You’re welcome to join sometime, if you want.”

“What?” Greaseball looked at Electra with surprise. He didn’t remember agreeing to an open relationship. The components were one thing; they were a part of Electra. Getting together with his ex-girlfriend and her new partner was another story. 

“We’ll think about it.” Dinah tended to be rather traditional when it came to sex. It had taken a while just for CB to get her comfortable changing up roles in the berth every once in a while. Admittedly, it was a lot easier for her to try new things with the lightly built, small caboose than it had with Greaseball, who out-massed her by several tons. “Oh, I should get us something to drink. Do you want anything specific?”

“Straight diesel for me. And regular oil for him too.” Greaseball jerked his thumb in Electra’s direction, making the call before the electric could forget his promise to steer clear of the high grade. 

“Actually, I’m fine on oil.” Electra commented with a slight frown. He’d hoped to sneak a little something, but clearly that wasn’t going to be happening. “Snacks would be nice, though. My reserves are a little low, and I’ve a feeling I’m going to need the energy tonight.” He winked at Greaseball, who glared at him in response. 

“What a show of support.” CB snickered. “Well, I’m certainly not going to spend this party sober, so I’ll have to drink for the both of you.”

Dinah nodded and skated off to the makeshift bar that had been set up to get their drinks and snacks. 

“As much as I would love to enjoy your high grade, I cannot get drunk while poor Greaseball here must refrain for the sake of our offspring.” Electra said primly. “And besides, I have my own very special source of oil.”

Before Greaseball could react, Electra had left his seat and moved to kneel in front of him instead. The electric engine pulled up the hem of his partner’s shirt and leaned in close. Greaseball felt his body begin to relax in anticipation as those sparkly lips touched one of his teats, but his mind rebelled at the sensation. They were at a party surrounded by people, Greaseball didn’t need someone suckling from him like he was some brood-engine. The diesel kicked out with one foot, scoring a solid hit to Electra’s codpiece that made the electric jerk away with a loud grunt. 

“Keep away from those.” Greaseball tugged the hem of his shirt back down, suddenly glad for the embarrassing piece of clothing. Stupid slogan or not, at least it covered him. 

CB couldn’t help but laugh as Electra sheepishly returned to his seat, a hand on his dented codpiece. “We’ll never have a dull moment in the ol’ AV yard again with you two reproducing.”

“What happened here?” Dinah skated back up to the table, tray in hand with several drinks and an assortment of small metallic snacks, and looked between the laughing caboose, cringing Electra, and irritated Greaseball with confusion. 

“Nothing, Dinah darling.” CB grabbed the strongest high-grade drink on the tray and took a swig. “Just a little lover’s quarrel. You know how testy diesels are when they’re breeding.”

“Testy? Why I-“ Greaseball’s engine growled. Electra, seeing the diesel getting angry, took advantage of his open mouth to pop in one of the treats from the tray. Whatever Greaseball was going to say was lost as he chewed on the sweet. It was rare for him to indulge in candies, as the confections were known, usually preferring the more utilitarian crackers. And suddenly he wondered why that was because they tasted amazing. 

Reaching forward, Greaseball snagged the rest of the sweets off the tray and quickly downed them. They satisfied a mental itch he hadn’t even known was bothering him, but his body (or perhaps more accurately, the kits) demanded more. “Get more of these.” Greaseball turned to Electra, who looked perhaps a bit surprised that all of the sweets had been devoured in such a short time. 

“Right. I’ll just go get more then.” The electric engine got to his wheels and quickly skated off towards the other end of the shed. 

“Crav-ings,” CB said in a little sing-song voice, looking at Greaseball with amusement. Seeing the powerful, self-confident diesel he had known for years dealing with his unexpected pregnancy was an endless source of entertainment for the caboose. 

“If the kits want ‘em, they get ‘em.” Greaseball asserted, patting his belly with one hand. Sure, he wasn’t particularly fond of the way his body was doing things without his conscious agreement but the important thing here was the health and happiness of the young he carried. Even if what they wanted was a bit embarrassing sometimes. 

“I think it’s sweet.” Dinah smiled, sipping daintily at her drink. “I bet the kits will just love candies. If you ever need any, Greasy, Buffy and I can always make some.”

That was a very tempting idea. Especially when Electra came back with more sweets and Greaseball found himself finishing them off in short order. His tank was telling him it was full now, though no doubt he’d be hungry again in a few hours. 

Greaseball was just beginning to relax, warm and happy with his tank full and friends around him, when the music stopped and the shed was filled with the sound of quiet conversation and confused murmuring instead. 

“Hey, everybody!” The loud, brash voice of Buffy rang out clearly over the crowd. “Thank you all for coming to our party tonight! As you all know, today is Valentine’s Day. A day to celebrate all the relationships in the trainyard, but we especially want to honor our new celebrity couple that are expecting their first litter. Can we have Greaseball and Electra up here?”

With a grin, Electra pulled a reluctant Greaseball to his wheels and dragged him to the center of the room. The electric posed regally as the rolling stock in the shed clapped and whistled, while Greaseball just crossed his arms over his chest and futilely attempted to hide the words on his shirt. He had been quite happy sitting at a table in the corner out of the center of attention and didn’t particularly enjoy being here in the middle of the crowd. 

“Now, can we get a song for a spotlight dance?” This question was director at the theatre car sitting in the corner who was in charge of the music for the party. Something slow and romantic was put on, and Ashley came up to help Buffy push Greaseball and Electra together. 

“Well, shall we dance?” Electra was honestly enjoying all the attention as he pressed himself against his partner and placed a hand on Greaseball’s waist. 

“I’ll lead.” Greaseball lifted the electric’s hand higher and took his other hand in a tight grip. 

“I’m taller than you.” Electra protested. He didn’t like to follow, and felt that he was a much better lead. 

“I. Don’t. Follow.” Greaseball insisted in a tone that booked no argument. Plus, he felt like if he was spun right now he’d probably purge. He gave Electra a shove and began leading the electric engine in a dance. It was a little clumsy, the diesel wasn’t as agile as he usually was with the extra weight he was carrying and it took a few beats for the two engines to stop fighting for the lead. After a bit, though, they managed to settle into the dance. Out of the corner of his eye, Greaseball saw Dinah pull a (slightly drunk) CB onto the floor with her and was grateful for the show of support. 

Soon, everyone was dancing again and Greaseball felt a little less like the spotlight was on him. Electra was also managing to follow with good grace, despite the fact that he had to duck due to his greater height and towering mohawk whenever he was spun. 

Still, at the end of the song Greaseball left the dance floor and made his way back towards his seat. A little confused, Electra trailed behind and retook his seat as well. The electric could dance all night, but had hoped to do so with his partner. “What, all danced out already?”

“You try dancing with an extra ten tons of weight on your front.” Greaseball stretched out a bit, rolling sore ankles and taking weight off his axles. Though he liked dancing, he didn’t like it as much when he had to worry about bumping his partner with his belly or keeping his balance when his center of gravity wasn’t where he was used to it being. Plus, the movement and music had woken up the kits who were now having a dance party of their own inside him. 

“Poor diesel.” Electra reached forward to rub his partner’s belly, only to have his hand slapped away. The electric engine frowned, finally fed up at how his every attempt at public affection was so rudely rebuffed. Greaseball certainly hadn’t seemed shy at the races, standing proud with coaches fawning all over him, so why now? Was he somehow ashamed of being with an electric engine? “What is with you? Everyone knows we’re together. We just danced in front of everyone! But suddenly a belly rub is too much?”

“It ain’t like that. I’m no brood diesel, and I don’t need you pawing at me all the time. Especially in public.” A lot of years had gone into cultivating the image of being a tough, fast, attractive diesel and Greaseball didn’t want everyone in the yard to think he’d been turned into some soft breeder. 

“Brood-?“ So that was it? The diesel was ashamed of being pregnant? Electra tsked, taking Greaseball’s hand in his own. This, at least, was apparently an acceptable display of public affection. “Come now, there’s nothing wrong with being pregnant. To be heavy with new life. You are carrying our offspring, you should be proud!”

“That isn’t it at all.” Greaseball flushed red even as he turned away. Of course, the electric wouldn’t get it, he was a shop build. Probably had no idea how common rolling stock were bred. 

Out in the rest of the shed, everyone seemed thoroughly distracted with the music and the drinks of the party. He could see the components lingering around the edges of the shed, keeping eyes on their master while sipping their drinks. Well, except for Joule, who was energetically dancing with any coach she could get her hands on in the middle of the room. As he watched, the dynamite truck pulled Pearl away from Rusty and twirled her around. 

Dinah and CB were still dancing, though the caboose seemed less fluid and graceful than he usually was. Odd, CB was normally very good at holding his drinks. Clearly, the high grade tonight was a little more potent than normal. Supporting that was the number of freight cars leaning against the far wall laughing and leering at passing coaches. And, in the corner, someone appeared to have invited the TRAXes to the party. The track maintenance vehicles were thoroughly absorbed in each other, ignoring everything around them, and seemed to be trying to have sex standing up. 

Shaking his head, Greaseball grimaced and rubbed at his middle. The kits were getting more active, combining that with his full tank lead to a very unpleasant nausea. Further motivation to stay put in his seat and not move. 

It didn’t take too long for Dinah and CB to rejoin them at the corner table. Dinah was a bit flushed from dancing, a smile on her face, while CB actually looked a little green with his signal lamps glowing dimly. 

“Well, caboose, and here I thought you could hold your high-grade.” Electra laughed as CB groaned and put a hand over his eyes. 

“Are you okay, CB?” Dinah laid a hand on her boyfriend’s shoulderbox in concern. 

CB tried to nod only to suddenly bolt out of his chair and hurl into a nearby trashcan. The sound made Greaseball put a hand over his mouth, trying to keep down his own nausea, but it became a futile effort when one of the kits landed a hit to his fuel tank. He was moving a little slower, but still managed to make it to the can before the unprocessed fuel came back up. 

CB laughed weakly as he wiped a bit of oil from the corner of his mouth. “Now who can’t hold their fuel?”

“At least-“ Greaseball gagged, coughing and spitting into the can. “At least I have an excuse. What’s yours, high grade too strong for you tonight?”

“Never, I-“ CB’s shoulders shook as he dry-heaved, unable to finish his thought. 

 

Puking into a trash can didn’t exactly make for a fun party time, so once Greaseball and CB had recovered they both decided it was time to head out. Dinah took the caboose back to the freight yard, since the coach shed wouldn’t be emptied out for hours yet, while Greaseball rolled back to his shed with Electra. 

“You’re really okay?” Electra helped support his partner as Greaseball unlocked the door to his shed and tiredly rolled inside. 

“Fine. I told you.” Greaseball said stubbornly, going straight to the back to collapse into his nest. This, at least, was soft and comfortable. The shirt he had been forced into was peeled off and tossed into the corner, finally freeing himself from the garment that had been a little tight around his middle. He rolled onto his back, finding a good position, before looking up at Electra and placing a hand on the bulge of his belly. “The kits are still worked up though. Plan to help me out with them?”

Eagerly, Electra joined his partner in the berth and straddled Greaseball’s hips. Now that he had permission to give a belly rub he was going to take full advantage of it. The kits were active indeed, letting the electric feel their eager movements under the surface of Greaseball’s belly. They were so alive, so energetic. Electra couldn't wait for them to be born so he could hold them himself. 

Greaseball purred, stretching out his sore limbs as Electra worked. Now that they were in private, he didn’t even mind that much when Electra leaned down to take a quick suckle from his teats. Soon, he was fast asleep. Electra was a little disappointed they hadn’t had any time for some fun, and instead curled up around the sleeping diesel. There’d always be more time tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little illustration for the chapter: http://tinyurl.com/hcf5pg9


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First bit of this inspired by the tradition of "Volta sweets" (apparently a Bochum tradition, the actress playing Volta will leave out candies backstage for Electra, the Components, and Pearl before Act 2). 
> 
> This chap was supposed to be pure feeding fetish, but it sort of did a 180 on me in the second half. Oops.

Electra woke up in the morning looking forward to a little pick-me-up before work only to be rather disappointed. For one, Greaseball was still fast asleep and snoring loudly. No matter how horny Electra was, he wasn’t going to wake up the pregnant diesel who obviously needed his sleep. He could wait around, to be there when Greaseball did wake up, but a message from Control put an end to that thought. Electra and several of his components were needed for a morning train. 

Pulling himself from the oddly comfortable nest, Electra called his components to him. He needed most of them for the run today, but didn’t want to leave Greaseball all alone. The diesel hadn’t reacted well the last time that had happened and Electra didn’t want a repeat of that experience. Fortunately, there was one component he could leave behind. 

“Volta, I would like you to stay here. Make sure my mate does not wake up alone.” Electra commanded, carefully checking to ensure that his hair and outer plating was perfectly in place. 

“Master?” Volta looked at the electric, confused as to why she was getting left behind. The other components looked at her, their amusement bleeding through the link the group shared. 

“Greaseball needs company, even he does not believe so. You are not needed on the train today, so you may remain here.” Electra grinned and leaned in a little closer. “Besides, I know that he has quite a sweet tooth and will probably awaken hungry. You could. . . indulge him.”

Now that made Volta perk up. The freezer truck always had candies on hand, for she made them in her spare time, and few things excited her more than the prospect of feeding the sweets to a willing subject. Nodding to the other electrics, Volta retreated back to the berth to settle down beside her assigned charge. 

Greaseball was still curled up in his nest, a blanket pulled over his form and engine rumbling as he snored. It was strangely cute, in a way. The normally serious expression on the diesel’s face was relaxed, and his powerful legs occasionally twitched as he dreamed. Volta perched herself on the edge of the nest and pulled out some of the ingredients for making candy. Might as well put together some sweets while she waited. 

By the time she finished the first batch of diesel treats, the pitch of the sleeping engine next to her had changed. Perhaps Greaseball was finally waking up. To test this theory, Volta set down one of the completed candies just in front of his mouth. Greaseball’s nose twitched as he caught a whiff of the sweet scent of the treat. Without opening his eyes, the diesel inched forward and managed to grab the candy with his mouth. Chewing and swallowing, Greaseball let out a pleased hum and stretched out a little bit in his nest. 

Trying not to laugh, Volta set down another sweet and watched as it was sucked in much like the first one. Oh, she could do this all morning. 

Greaseball managed to inhale ten candies before he realized that something was odd and finally opened his eyes. Blinking in confusion, the diesel stared groggily at Volta sitting next to him. Not the electric he had been expecting. 

“The master had a morning train,” Volta supplied, holding out another treat. “He requested I remain here to watch over you.”

“I don’t need watching.” Greaseball protested even as he shifted so that he could reach forward and take the sweet. “And what’s with the candy?”

“I enjoy making it. And from what I hear, you enjoy eating it.” Volta gave a faint smile, delicately picking up yet another sweet from her supply. She had more than enough to fill even a diesel’s tank. “These ones are very special, they have just a bit of high grade in them.”

That would explain why his brain felt a little fuzzy, head and limbs heavy like they were weighted in lead. In large amounts, high grade caused the typical symptoms of drunkenness. But in small amounts, especially when mixed with other fuel and metals, it acted more like a relaxant. Greaseball couldn’t quite come up with the energy or the motivation to sit up so he just lay back in his comfortable nest. Well, he was hungry. Everything he had consumed the day before had ended up in the trash, leaving him with empty tanks and growing kits to fuel. Maybe if he just stayed here and didn’t move, what went into his tanks would stay there this time. 

Still, it was a bit over the top to have someone hand-feed him. “You could leave them here. I can feed myself.” 

“But I want to feed you.” Volta pressed a candy against his lips, satisfied when Greaseball opened his mouth to accept it. “Dear Wrench says that you didn’t eat enough before we arrived. All of us want the kits to be big and healthy, which means making sure you don’t go hungry.”

Well he couldn’t argue with that. Greaseball still hated to think that maybe he had hurt his kits by not taking good enough care of himself in the earlier parts of his pregnancy. Plus, he had a sneaking suspicion that concern over his health wasn’t the only thing motivating the freezer truck. 

As he took the next sweet, Greaseball let his mouth linger on Volta’s fingers. Though her pale face remained stoic, the diesel heard her cooling engine kick in and grinned. He sucked a little bit on her fingers, tasting the oil that had rubbed off the treats as she was making them. 

Well, if he was going to be like that. Volta shifted until she was fully in the nest, pressing up against his side as she removed her hand from his mouth to take out more candies. She could feel heat pooling between her legs, spike wanting to pressurize, but kept it inside for now. Still, Volta couldn’t help but rub her free hand down Greaseball’s powerful thighs. 

“Mmm,” Greaseball’s engine gave a powerful rumble as he chewed a candy and swallowed. “Don’t do that if you can’t follow up on it.”

“Well, if that’s what you want.” Volta’s hand drifted up to rub at the diesel’s codpiece. Rather than offer him the next treat, she popped it into her mouth and leaned in to capture his lips in a kiss. Greaseball hummed as he ran his tongue inside her mouth, tasting the sweet oil and steel shavings. A little reluctantly, Volta pulled away. “Maybe, if you can manage to finish all these sweets, you can have a real treat at the end.”

Now that he could manage. This really was the nicest way to wake up in the morning. Nothing pressing to go do, no real reason to leave his comfortable nest, and a willing lover who wanted little more than to feed him. Volta snuggled closer, petting his belly as she continued to offer sweets. 

Even when he started to feel full, Greaseball continued to accept the snacks from the freezer truck. Partly because they really did taste amazing, and partly because he had taken attempting to finish all of the treats she had as a personal challenge. Greaseball groaned and shifted, midsection feeling tight and heavy even as he ate another treat. 

“Getting full?” Volta rubbed the curve of his belly, pressing a little bit and drawing another groan from the diesel. The weight of the gestation chamber was heavy on his full tanks, a bit uncomfortable but also warm and satisfying. 

“Depends, how many of those do you have left?” Greaseball wasn’t about to admit defeat now. 

“This is the last one.” Volta held up the very last treat from her storage. She’d have to make more later, but using them all up on Greaseball had been worth it. 

It took Greaseball a little longer to down the last one, sucking on Volta’s fingers as he let the taste linger in his mouth. She smiled approvingly.

“Now, I believe I promised you a reward.” Volta helped the diesel roll onto his side. He was so stuffed he could barely move, movements sluggish as he shifted his weight. Lying on his side helped a little, though, getting the weight of the kits off his torso. Greaseball managed to ball up a blanket for his belly to rest on, finally removing the strain from his back that was now ever-present at this stage of his pregnancy. 

Volta certainly didn’t mind doing all the work. She loved seeing the diesel so full of her sweets he couldn’t move. Gently, Volta bent his legs and helped him curl up a little so that she could get to his valve. His cover was already retracted, clear lubricant pooling at his entrance. 

“Already wet and eager for me, I see.” Volta observed with satisfaction. She finally pressurized her spike, the cool air of the shed a slight shock on her heated member. It had been oh so hard to wait this long, but it was worth it. The freezer truck lifted one of Greaseball’s legs and put it over her shoulder, spreading him nice and wide. From this position, it was easy to press her spike into his valve until she was firmly seated inside. It also afforded nice access to Greaseball’s belly for rubs. 

“You’re so big and round.” Volta complimented as she gave her hips a little roll. Before his belly had been soft with just a bit of give, but now it was firm and taut. 

“I noticed.” Greaseball grumbled, even as his engine purred from the attention. The freezer truck’s spike wasn’t the largest he’d ever taken, but she certainly knew what she was doing with it. He’d also never been taken sideways like this before, but he was getting large enough that this was really the most comfortable way to do it. 

“Oh come now. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He was not allowed to feel bad about his appearance while Volta was fucking him. “I happen to think it’s very sexy.”

Greaseball gave a disbelieving snort, slowly moving one arm until it lay across the curve of his middle. He certainly didn’t feel sexy like this, he felt bloated and unwieldy. It was a little embarrassing, to be honest, that he had let this happen to him. As a champion racer, Greaseball had been studded out more than a few times. But he never thought he’d find himself on the other end of the stick. A soft, nurturing brood diesel in his nest, good for nothing but producing young. 

Volta frowned as she felt the mood of the room change. She had certainly heard of pregnant rolling stock having ‘mood swings’ but had never witnessed it first hand. A moping diesel was definitely –not- a turn on. “When we first arrived at the yard and we saw you. Well, it was nearly enough to make us all abandon our master right then and there. I’ve dreamed about getting to do this for the last six months. Seeing you full of life. Full of my sweets. I could barely contain myself all morning.” 

Greaseball gasped as she chuckled, the vibration thrumming between their two bodies. Volta thrust a little harder, wringing a groan from the diesel at the added pressure on his tanks and gestation chamber. 

“I intend to take full advantage of this for as long as it lasts.” Volta murmured, kneading her hands into his side. “And then, when the kits are here, I’ll be able to ride that spike of yours too.”

When the kits were here, that was a nice thought. As much as he was learning to enjoy using his valve, Greaseball couldn't wait to be able to use his spike again. He gasped as Volta found a very nice spot somewhere inside him, digging her toe stops into the bedding of the nest to get better leverage to push against. Her cold hands were like ice on his heated frame, caressing the curve of his ass and tweaking the sensitive teats on the underside of his belly. There was no chance of him being able to return the favor, he simply couldn't bend that far, so instead he buried his hands in the blankets around him. His engine roared as he felt overload approaching, unable to hold in a shout that echoed off the steel walls of the shed. 

Volta emptied herself into the diesel's valve, his already stuffed tanks unable to take in any more and causing fluid to gush out around her spike. That would probably need to be cleaned up later, but she couldn't quite come up with the energy to do it now. She just pulled out and lay down in the nest as well, cuddling up against Greaseball's back and gently wrapping her arms around him to rub his taut belly. "Such a good diesel." She murmured against his back. "So full of kits and candy."

Full, that was the word for how he felt. Greaseball curled up a little bit, hands going protectively to his middle. The kits had begun to shift lazily, movements fitful as they pressed on his tanks. Reminding him that they were there. Once again, his thoughts drifted to the future. What he would do after they were born. Newborn kits required constant attention, that much he knew. Greaseball had never seen engines that young himself, working engines and freight cars didn’t often reproduce by chance simply because the stresses placed on their bodies during daily work prevented it. But he knew a little about them, faint memories from his own youngling-hood at a large manufacturer’s facility. 

The kits would need to be fed frequently, and couldn’t be left alone for at least the first few months. They needed constant supervision, he wouldn’t be able to return to work for a few months even after they were born. And then- and then he didn’t know what. Greaseball didn’t remember anything of his carrier, nor did the gang. Most kits were removed from their parents and sold off at a few months of age. Rumor was manufacturers paid good money for healthy kits. 

Greaseball felt chilled to the core when he remembered this. Maybe they wouldn’t even let him nurse his kits, removing them to be given to a nurse engine so that he would be primed to breed again quicker. Ship him to a breeding facility. It wasn’t like he had any useful work to do here anymore, his class of passenger engine was long retired from the rails and now he didn’t even have his championship to his name. 

 

Volta was nearly asleep when she noticed that the shoulders of the diesel she was so comfortably snuggled against were shaking slightly. Confused, Volta pushed herself up and laid a hand on Greaseball’s shoulder. The diesel had turned his face into the blankets of his nest, but she could still see his almost pained expression. The liquid running down from his tightly closed eyes. Was he. .. crying?

“Come now, surely I’m not that bad.” Volta attempted to joke; rubbing his shoulders in what she hoped was a comforting manner. 

Greaseball shook his head, curling up a little tighter as he wrapped both arms around his middle. Protective, as though he thought someone might try to harm his young. Volta half-wished she still had some sweets left, she wasn’t sure how else to draw the diesel from this sudden defensive retreat or even what had caused it. 

“Come now, you are safe here.” Volta wormed an arm in under his, caressing his chestplates. “I won’t hurt the kits. Nor will anyone else.”

“I don’t- I don’t want them to be taken.” Greaseball managed, voice rough and muffled slightly by the blankets. 

Taken? Was he afraid of someone taking the kits? True, Greaseball didn’t exactly seem like the parenting type, but so far everything Volta had seen told her that he truly did care and was trying his hardest for his unborn young.

“Why would anyone want to take them?” Volta rested her chin on his shoulder, still petting his chestplates and sides. With the mood he was in, she figured it was probably best to stay away from the delicate, developing kits. “They would have to try and get through you. And Electra. And myself, and the other components. I know our master is flashy and bright, but when he has something to fight for he really is quite fierce. Especially with the likes of Krupp and Wrench at his side, no one messes with those two.”

She wasn’t even sure that Greaseball was listening at this point, but Volta continued talking anyway. About anything and everything, all in the same low, soothing tones. Greaseball was completely silent, the only sign of his distress was the occasional shudders that ran through his body and the slight hitch in his intakes. Volta had to fill the silence with something, she couldn’t just sit back and watch. 

Eventually, Greaseball seemed to have fallen back asleep. His face relaxed slightly, tension draining from his body as he relaxed into the soft bedding. Volta lay back down as well, curling up tightly against the diesel’s warm back. She reached up to tug down one of the many surrounding blankets and pulled it over herself and Greaseball. Her hoped-for fun morning hadn’t quite turned out as expected, but she wasn’t about to blame the diesel for his mood swings. Pregnancy was not easy, that much she knew. Wrench had been sure to lecture them all on proper care of gestating engines. Part of that was a reminder that Greaseball might become upset or angry for seemingly no reason at all. Still, she hoped this would pass quickly. It wasn’t easy watching and feeling completely unable to help. 

Assured that Greaseball was truly asleep, Volta accessed her internal communications. Electra needed to know about this. 

 

As Electra rolled along the rails through the mountain passes with his train, his thoughts were not on the gorgeous scenery around him but instead with his pregnant mate back at the trainyard. Getting a communications ping from Volta was a surprise, she was supposed to be having fun and should be far too distracted to chat. A little confused, he accepted the communications request. :Yes, Volta? Is something wrong with my mate?:

:He did wake up long enough to eat all of my sweets. He is back asleep. But. . . he began to cry:

:Well then, Volta. I didn’t think you were –that- bad: Joule suddenly butted in on the line. 

:Shut up, Joule: Volta snapped. :He seems to be afraid that the kits will be taken from him by someone:

:Taken? No one will be taking my offspring: Electra was offended by the very thought. He had vague knowledge of the fact that most young rolling stock were raised at facilities, but anyone trying to take –his- kits away would summarily find themselves missing a few body parts. 

:That is what I told him. He is asleep again now, I will remain here with him until your return:

:Good. I shall return later this evening: Electra closed the communications line, returning his focus to the rails ahead. The electric had surprised even himself with the sudden bought of protectiveness he felt, the kits weren’t even born yet and here he was ready to guard them with everything he had. No one would be removing them from the AV yard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interesting in some of the world-building I've been doing (EG: how reproduction works, why kits are rarely raised by their parents, ect.) Check out this post on my blog over here: http://tinyurl.com/jl759rb


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the curious, this is slalom skating: https://youtu.be/A9Rtux1oylE?t=22s

By the time Electra returned to the diesel shed, Greaseball was no longer upset and was very insistent in denying that he had actually cried at all. He didn’t protest too loudly, though, when Electra refused to leave his side all evening. To the electric, the best remedy for feeling bad was lots of cuddling, massages, and several rounds of lovemaking. 

It was a little surprising how quickly Greaseball got used to life with an arrogant electric always in his business and several amorous components always ready for some fun. Gifts and treats were becoming common, whether it was fluffy things for the nest or fresh candy from Volta. In fact, the freezer truck was insistent on feeding him sweets whenever she saw him. Greaseball was beginning to forget how it felt to be hungry. 

The kits were clearly appreciating all the attention as they continued to grow, their movements becoming more energetic and forceful. They could actually be seen moving under the surface of his belly, something that fascinated Electra to no end. Greaseball had to be careful about accepting too many treats from Volta, lest a kick from the kits on full tanks cause him to bring it back up. Taking fuel in small amounts throughout the day turned out to be the trick, making sure his tanks were never totally full but also never empty. Wrench had stopped clucking disapprovingly as she checked the kits’ health, instead smiling as she assessed their size and weight. 

Though Greaseball was glad to hear that his unborn young were doing well, their increasing size meant that work was getting more and more difficult to perform. He had to take breaks frequently, to fuel and to rest, and found himself getting winded easily. 

An added irritation was that Electra had apparently decided the diesel couldn’t be trusted to look after himself and had followed through on the earlier threat of assigning Krupp as Greaseball’s body guard. Wherever the diesel went, the armaments truck was not far behind. Watching, expression unreadable behind the dark, mirrored glasses he always wore. It was a little creepy. Krupp was also the only component that had not made any sexual advances towards Greaseball. He always seemed to disappear when things get heated. Maybe the armaments truck was the only electric who didn’t somehow find Greaseball’s fat belly sexy, who knew. 

One thing that didn’t change was the freight yards. The freight cars were at least a little more compliant as the diesel got further into his pregnancy, even they didn’t have it in them to be too rude to a gravid engine. At least that meant less of a fight for Greaseball as he arranged a train of boxcars for pickup before retreating to a siding for a rest. Being on his wheels for more than an hour or two was incredibly unpleasant, and Greaseball was done with trying to tough it out through the ankle and back pain. He was pregnant, anybody trying to come after him for his frequent breaks could go screw themselves. 

“Alright, alright. I’m relaxing.” Greaseball muttered as he sank down to sit on a loading platform, one hand rubbing at his belly. The kits were kicking away, whether because they disapproved of his continued attempts to work or because they didn’t like him moving around all the time he didn’t know. “You lot just don’t approve of anything I do.”

Humming softly, Greaseball looked around the yard a little self-consciously. No one was about except for Krupp, who was watching him from surprisingly close by. The armaments truck, despite his size and weight, somehow managed to move very quietly. At least Krupp wasn’t exactly prone to gossip, making him easy to put out of mind. Greaseball ignored the watchful component as he sang quietly under his breath to the kits, just some human song he’d heard in passing. The little ones seemed to like music, particularly when sung by Greaseball or Electra, and usually calmed down at the sound of their parent’s voices. 

Indeed, the movement of the kits slowed as they were soothed back to sleep. Greaseball was almost completely absorbed when he heard a noise from nearby and cut himself off. Straightening, he focused on the sound. Yelling, cursing, thumps and the sound of rolling stock hitting the ground. His gang. 

Heaving himself to his wheels, Greaseball curiously followed the noise to another part of the yard. Sure enough, there he found his gang gathered around a bunch of pilfered traffic cones. The cones had been placed in an evenly spaced line, ten of them with about a couple feet between them, clearly intended for slalom. 

Slalom skating, or performing intricate dance maneuvers around a line of cones, was extremely popular among rolling stock. For one, it could be done as long as there was just enough room to set out of the cones, and it was also something that all rolling stock could do from engines to freight cars. Greaseball himself was no slouch, though he had mostly stopped slalom skating when he got more into aggressive racing in his younger days. 

“Hey, boss!” Tank greeted the older diesel as he skated in before joining in laughing with his brothers at Gook, who had attempted a complicated trick and fallen on his ass. 

“God, Gook. It ain’t that hard.” Gear helped the hapless engine up and pushed him to one side. “Here, watch me.” 

Gear stepped up to the line of cones and began quickly tracing his skates between them. Confident, self-assured, until he clipped a cone trying out the same trick and also crashed to the ground. The laughter from the other gang members roared louder. 

“You’re all amateurs.” Greaseball scoffed. He had mastered that move when he was but a young diesel, it wasn’t hard at all. In fact, he bet he could still do it. 

Rolling up the cones, Greaseball stretched a bit and shook out his arms. He couldn’t see the cones at his feet past the curve of his belly, but they were all the exact same distance apart. He just had to hold where they were in his mind. 

“Uh, boss? You sure this is a good idea?” Lube said nervously, watching the older diesel begin to slowly weave his skates in and out of the cones. 

“Course. You don’t think I can skate while pregnant?” Greaseball could do anything he put his mind to, even like this. Well, except bend over and touch his toes. He’d show them he wasn’t just some breeder. 

As he gained confidence, Greaseball began to move faster. Feet remembering the intricate moves from his youth. 

“It’s okay, boss.” Lube didn’t like to see the older diesel doing stunts while so heavily pregnant. “We believe you! Gook’ll pick it up-“

“I said, I’m fine!” But Lube’s words were just distraction enough to cause Greaseball to clip a cone. He wobbled, trying to catch his balance, but his center wasn’t where he was used to it being. 

Time seemed to slow as Greaseball overbalanced and began to go down, at least falling backwards and not forwards onto his delicate middle. The expected impact with the ground never came, though. Instead, Greaseball found himself wrapped in a strong pair of arms. Confused, he looked up to see Krupp staring at him with an unreadable expression. The armaments truck had caught him before he could hit the ground. 

“Our master was right, you do require constant supervision.” Krupp admonished as he set the diesel back on his wheels. 

Irritated beyond belief, both at the armaments truck’s word and at his own inability to do the simplest of things, and still somewhat in shock, Greaseball snarled and skated off towards his shed. His gang stared after him, concerned but unsure if their presence would be welcome. Krupp had no such reservations, simply shaking his head silently before following after his assigned charge. 

Reaching his shed, Greaseball yanked the door open and entered the private space with relief. Once the door was shut again and he was alone, he could finally let out the stifled sob he had been holding in. Starlight, he was an idiot. All that talk of not needing a babysitter, and then he goes and nearly takes a spill. A little fall on his ass wouldn’t have been a big deal months ago, but now? With four fragile kits depending on him? 

It was frustrating to the extreme. He couldn’t even perform a few simple slalom moves, something he should’ve been able to do in his sleep, without putting himself in danger. He was just too heavy, too awkward, to do anything anymore. No wonder Electra thought he needed a babysitter. 

Speaking of. The soft creak of the shed door told Greaseball that his big, armored shadow was still following him. He turned to see Krupp standing in the doorway, looking at him with arms crossed and a stern frown. 

“What?” Greaseball finally snarled, fed up with the stoic act. The diesel pushed off the wall and heaved himself down onto the couch instead. “I ain’t gonna get hurt sitting around in my own stall, you can go away and do whatever it is you’d rather be doing. I don’t need constant watching.”

“I would have believed that yesterday. But today, after that stunt you pulled?” Krupp approached the couch to stand before his assigned charge. “It is clear you cannot be left alone for a second.”

“Stunt?” Greaseball couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had gotten along just fine on his own for years and now these electrics barged in to try and tell him what he could and couldn’t do. “It was just slalom skating. If Lube hadn’t distracted me, I would have been fine.”

“Or you would have fallen anyway because you are seven months pregnant and your body has significantly changed from what you are used to.” Krupp knelt down in front of the diesel and placed both hands on his round, heavy belly. “You claim to care for them, but from what I’ve seen I’m having difficulty believing that.”

“How dare you accuse me of not caring about my kits.” Greaseball growled. All the stress he had gone through, all the changes he had made to his routine and all the effort he was putting into making himself better, all for the little ones. And here this truck just waltzed in and claimed he didn’t care. Those hands on his middle felt good, though, as tempted as Greaseball was to slap them away. “What are you doing?”

“I am checking on them.” Krupp answered, not taking his gaze from the diesel’s midsection. His sensors were nowhere near as good as Wrench’s, but he could still pick up the weak little signals from the unborn engines. They appeared to be just fine, if wriggling a little unhappily from the earlier jostling. “Someone has to worry about their health.”

“Of course I worry about them! I worry every day! They’re my kits, I’d do anything for them.” To his eternal embarrassment, Greaseball could feel frustrated tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. At the same time, independent of his emotional turmoil, his body was experiencing an entirely physical reaction to the gentle touches on his sensitive belly. Why else would he go through all this shit? The nausea, the cravings, the intense horniness, the weight gain that led all-over aches, all the crap that came from pregnancy. All to bring his offspring into the world. 

“Well, perhaps you should act like it.” Krupp finished his study and stood, moving away to the other side of the shed. 

Greaseball grumbled, a little surprised to see the armaments truck go. The only thing worse than those hands on his belly was their sudden loss. “What, you’re going to get me worked up and then just leave? What gives? You’re the only component that hasn’t been tripping over themselves to take me to berth. Not into pregnant engines?”

Krupp turned away, pale white face turned just the slightest bit pink with- embarrassment? Regret? “My master has forbidden me from being involved with you sexually. I am. .. not gentle in the berth.”

Gentle in the berth. As though he was some delicate flower to be guarded from the world. Maybe getting a little rough was just what he needed. Greaseball was still pissed off, at himself, at Krupp, at his own clumsy body, and worse than that he was turned on. “Good. I like a rough fuck.”

Krupp stared at him in surprise. “I do not wish to injure you.”

“I’m not breakable. I’m a one hundred and fifty ton diesel engine.” Greaseball paused, looking down at his middle contemplatively, “Well, hundred and sixty five ton right now. You might be armored, but I bet I still outmass you. Long as you don’t get too near the kits, you ain’t gonna be hurting me.”

Still, Krupp was a little hesitant as he approached. He very much wanted to put the diesel face down and rut him into the couch, but at the same time the instruction of his master rang through his mind. Electra had commanded him to watch and protect Greaseball, not hurt him. “Master will not be pleased.” Krupp murmured.

“Electra doesn’t get to tell me who I can and can’t have sex with.” Greaseball insisted, managing to move enough to get a grip on Krupp’s collar and pull the truck down onto the couch with him. “If I want to fuck somebody, there’s nothing that sparkly bastard can do about it.”

That was the affirmation Krupp needed. Moving suddenly, he grabbed Greaseball and managed to flip the diesel over. Greaseball adjusted quickly, knees on the couch with ass in the air and face pressed into the cushions by one of Krupp’s hands. The armaments truck paused briefly to make sure this was still okay (Greaseball was enjoying himself if the growling of his engine was anything to go by), before pressurizing his spike and pressing into the diesel’s open valve. 

Greaseball yelled hoarsely as the roughly textured spike was shoved inside him with no preparation, pain and pleasure sparking from his abused sensors. As nice as all that tender loving from the other components was, this was what he needed right now. 

A feral grin came over Krupp’s face as he began a harsh rhythm, tightly gripping Greaseball’s shoulders to add power to his thrusts. Blunt fingers dug into the diesel’s plating, leaving scratches and gouges in his enamel. Greaseball would need a good buffing session when this was all over. 

Krupp hadn’t been lying when he said he liked it rough. The weight of the armaments truck on his back made it hard for Greaseball to do anything but brace himself on his knees and elbows and take it. The scratches being left across his chest, shoulders, and back smarted, but as promised Krupp went nowhere near his belly. 

“Come on,” Greaseball taunted, voice muffled by the couch cushion his face was pressed against. He managed to wiggle his ass a little bit, clenching down on the spike in his valve and drawing a hiss from Krupp. “You can do better than that!”

With a growl, Krupp lunged forward and bit down hard where Greaseball’s neck met his collar. The diesel cried out, vision going white as he suddenly overloaded. A few more thrusts from the armaments truck brought him over as well, panting as he straightened to allow Greaseball to lift himself back up and get his face out of the couch. 

“Well?” Krupp pulled his spike from the diesel’s valve with a pop, placing his hand over the wet opening instead to ensure nothing spilled from inside. 

“Not bad.” Greaseball slowly pushed himself to his hands and knees, movement causing the scratches decorating his outer plating to sting. “For round one.”

This day was just full of surprises. Krupp knew, though, that if he went again the same way he might not be able to control himself as well. To remember his promise to avoid the diesel’s un-armored middle. Time to change things up a little bit. 

“How do you feel about toys?” Krupp used one arm to pull the diesel up off the couch, digging into one of his storage compartment with the other hand. 

“Toys? What, like-“ Greaseball caught sight of the large, phallic-shaped object the armaments truck produced. Still not quite the size of the false spike Joule favored, but this had wires dangling from it and a remote control attached. “Oh. What’s that do?”

“You’ll find out.” Krupp forced the diesel’s legs a little wider before stuffing the toy up into his still-bared valve. Small leg straps went around his thighs, preventing his valve calipers from being able to push the toy back out. Taking the remote control in hand, Krupp flicked the knob to the first power setting. 

Greaseball felt his legs go weak when the toy inside him started to buzz, sending pleasure shooting up his backstrut. So that’s what it did. 

While the diesel was suitably distracted, Krupp drew something else from his storage as well. A set of handcuffs. Before Greaseball could react, his arms had been cuffed behind his back and he was being forced to his knees. 

“Perfect.” Krupp grinned as the diesel settled back onto his heels, putting his face right at crotch height. One hand got a strong grip on Greaseball’s hair, tipping his head back so that the armaments truck could put his already-pressurized spike to his lips. The other hand turned up the power setting on the vibrator, so that when Greaseball opened his mouth to gasp Krupp could push inside. 

So that’s how they were going to play it. Greaseball tamped down his gag reflex to take his partner’s spike to the hilt, biting down to make his teeth scrape along what he knew was very sensitive plating. Krupp’s hips jerked, briefly turning his little toy up to its max power setting before dialing it back down. Greaseball gasped around the spike in his mouth, jerking at his bonds from the sudden surge. 

This round was beginning to turn into a real power struggle, Greaseball biting and sucking at Krupp’s spike before being forced to fall back when the vibrator deep in his valve picked up its pace, when a new voice intruded on the scene. 

“Krupp!” Purse had returned from his work that day and gone to the shed hoping to get a little bit of diesel action to himself, only to find one of the other components had gotten there first. “You were supposed to guard the master’s mate, not face fuck him! What will Electra say? You know he forbid you from getting sexual, you’re too rough.”

Frowning, Greaseball pulled back from Krupp’s spike with a pop, “Electra won’t say shit if he knows what’s good for him. The only person who gets to decide who I have sex with is me.”

“Wha- but.” Purse faltered. “The kits aren’t born yet. They need to be protected.”

“They do. And they’re safe, right in here.” Greaseball nodded towards his belly, resting heavily against his thighs. The kits were moving a little restlessly inside, probably agitated by their carrier’s rather. . . vigorous activity, but were otherwise healthy and perfectly fine. Scratches and scrapes decorated Greaseball’s chest and shoulders, but his belly was unscathed. “I ain’t made of glass, a little rough handling won’t break me. And if I want rough sex, I’m gonna get it! Now you can either shut up and get out, or join in.”

There was really only one choice. Purse skated up to the couple and held out his hand. “Give me that remote. I was always better with that toy than you were.”

Krupp agreeably handed the remote over before using his suddenly free hand to pull Greaseball’s mouth back down onto his spike. The diesel barely had a moment to voice muffled protest before Purse suddenly cranked the vibrator in his valve. 

Greaseball’s yell of “Holy SHIT” came out just as a muffled cry around the thick spike shoved down his throat. Krupp hummed in approval at the vibration, forcing himself in a little deeper. Greaseball tried to keep up his earlier biting and sucking, but it was very hard to concentrate past the toy apparently trying to shake his insides apart. Purse would let it rest for only a few moments before taking its speed back up to maximum, giving Greaseball no time to recover from one wave before the next hit. 

It didn’t take long for a second overload to come, crashing through Greaseball’s body in an intense wave. Every part of him stiffened in release, and he had just enough presence of mind to clamp down hard on the spike in his mouth. That brought Krupp as well, the armaments truck spilling his load deep into the diesel’s throat. Greaseball drank it all down, feeling the warm fluid pool in his tank. As Krupp pulled out, the diesel felt all his strength leave him and slumped forward a little. With his hands still cuffed behind his back, it was all he could do to not just flop over onto the floor. 

“Well then.” Purse looked between the exhausted diesel and satisfied Krupp, who was rubbing at the deep bite marks on his spike. “I guess then it’s my turn.”

Setting down the remote control, Purse knelt down and very gently tugged the toy from Greaseball’s valve. The diesel managed a weak groan as the vibrator slipped free, everything was at once hypersensitive yet nearly numb. 

“Come now, up you get.” Purse attempted to pull Greaseball upright, but the diesel’s weight was just too much. “Krupp, help me. He’s heavy.”

With Krupp’s assistance, the two freight cars managed to get Greaseball standing again. Purse sat himself down on the couch and spread his legs wide, giving a weak “oof!” when the limp diesel was set down in his lap. 

“There we go. Poor, tired diesel.” Purse cooed, rubbing the scratches left in his chest plating. “We shall have to give you a good buffing session after this. Krupp, be a dear and fetch some diesel?”

Nodding, Krupp briskly skated out towards the fuel depot. 

“Now, you get me.” Purse whispered, licking and nibbling gently at Greaseball’s neck and ears. Sucking on each scratch and gouge as though he could erase them with his tongue and lips. Unlike Krupp, Purse did not get off on pain. No, he’d rather take a tired partner and make them melt in his arms. 

Tired, sore, and still somehow turned on, Greaseball moaned weakly and wiggled his ass a little where it was seated in Purse’s lap. Meddlesome as the electrics were, he thought he could learn to enjoy living like this.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for (very brief) discussion of miscarriage at the beginning.

“You were supposed to be watching him!”

Electra’s shrill, angry voice cut through Greaseball’s pleasant dream, bringing him somewhat abruptly to the waking world. The diesel groaned, stirring fitfully under the blanket that had been pulled over him. He didn’t remember getting into his nest last night, but clearly Purse and Krupp had moved him here sometime after he’d passed out. That had been sometime after round four. Or maybe five. It was difficult to remember. 

“Shh. The master isn’t happy right now, best to pretend to be asleep.”

Greaseball shifted and looked towards the voice in surprise, seeing Joule curled up into his side using his belly as a pillow. “Not happy? What’s he mad about?” Moving made the diesel remember the scratches decorating his upper body, causing them to sting slightly. His abused valve gave a sympathetic throb, and Greaseball decided that there was no way he was leaving his nest that day. 

“You.” Joule said simply, frowning when her headrest suddenly moved a little under her. She snuggled closer, resettling her head to find a comfortable position. “And Purse, and especially Krupp. He wasn’t supposed to rut you. Naughty Krupp. And naughty Purse for joining in.”

“This again?” Greaseball made an attempt at getting up, but couldn’t manage to haul himself upright. It didn’t help that Joule wrapped her arms around him to try and keep him there. She certainly didn’t want to get up, and didn’t want her nice pillow moving either. “I don’t need protection, I’m capable of making my own decisions!”

“Yes, and they’re stupid ones!” Wrench suddenly appeared in the door, hand on her hips. She quickly came over to Greaseball, pushing Joule out of the way and pulling back the blanket to look at the damage from the night before. Her sensitive hands brushed the scratches, tracing their shape in his plating. They were in groups of four, the perfect imprint of Krupp’s fingers scraping down the metal. 

“Well, at least they aren’t as deep as he usually does.” Wrench muttered, tugging at Greaseball’s shoulders to get a look at his back. The diesel groaned as he was forced to roll onto his side, tiredly shifting his impressive bulk at the insistent push of the repair truck. Wrench narrowed her eyes as she watched him try and move his hips. “Valve hurt?”

“I was fucked all night, of course my valve hurts.” Greaseball grumbled. “I’ll be fine by tomorrow, nothing I haven’t felt before.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Wrench left her examination of his upper body and moved down to look at his crotch instead. She inserted a finger into his valve, feeling the sensitive metal and noting the way Greaseball hissed at the sudden intrusion, before pulling back and taking out a small jar from her storage. “Well, it’s all superficial. I’ve got a numbing salve for your valve, and I think all the scratches will buff out. Volta and Purse can help with that.”

“Told you.” Greaseball twitched when a cold paste was smeared into his valve, stinging the abused metal, and it took all his strength to not jerk away from the sensation. After a moment, though, the dull ache faded away to a more tolerable numbness. “I’m not some newly minted youngling, I’ve been around a few times.”

“Have you ever been pregnant before?” Wrench closed his valve cover, moving her hands to his belly to check on the kits. His silence made the answer clear, Greaseball turning his face away as she gently pressed to feel how much give his gestation chamber still had. “Being extremely rough during sex can trigger early labor. So can stress and injury.”

There wasn’t anything he could do but close his eyes and absorb her words. “I didn’t-“

“No, I’m sure you didn’t know. I clearly haven’t been doing my job properly.” Wrench wasn’t accusatory, only stern and serious. He needed to understand that no matter how strong he was, muscles only went so far. “The kits depend on you for everything right now. What affects you, affects them. You’re eating well, that’s good. Having sex regularly. Getting lots of metal into your system. The kits are now on the upper end of average weight for seven months. They still would not survive being born this early. They need the next two months to keep growing.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Greaseball muttered, not liking the direction the conversation was going. The reminder of how much time he still had to fuck this up. 

“So you realize how serious this is!” Wrench flicked him on the forehead, sitting back on her heels. “I’m not sure why you feel the need to keep trying to show off how macho you are. You’re a big tough diesel, so what? Nobody expects you to keep up the act, you’re allowed to relax and be comfortable and not do anything for a while.”

“No, I’m not.” Her words stung him to the core, but he couldn’t let it go so easily. “When was the last time you saw an E-unit on the rails? Especially an E6. I think I’ve got one other engine of my class left that hasn’t been scrapped. They don’t even use the 9’s anymore, and I can remember when they were brand new. When I was the World Champion, at least there was a reason to keep me around. Now? I have to keep working, or they’ll ship me off to a breeding farm to pop out diesels to the end of my days. Take the kits so I’ll be ready to go again faster.”

“So that’s what you’re afraid of.” Electra’s voice joined the conversation, coming over and ousting Joule from nest so he could take her place. He wrapped his arms around his mate, nuzzling the diesel’s neck gently. “I doubt your Control is going to ship you off. Or take the kits. They’ve been planning out a new building just for our young when they’re old enough to live on their own. And that little steamer is fast, but he can’t handle passenger traffic by himself. The railway needs you back.”

Greaseball let out a non-committal grumble. They were trying to help, but he didn’t need it. He was fine, always had been. It was just stupid shit he was worrying about, thinking too much and letting dumb fears get a toe-hold in his mind. 

Wrench shook her head as she watched the diesel retreat further into himself. Here she’d just told him stress was bad for him and the kits, and now he was getting upset again. “If you can’t learn to relax and take time away from work, I’m going to restrict you to this shed.”

“What?” That got Greaseball’s attention, making him turn to stare at her incredulously. “You can’t lock me in my shed.”

“Just try me.” He really didn’t want to force Wrench to turn her hand. “Between all of us, I’m sure we can keep ‘round the clock watch on you. I bet I can get your gang to help keep you in here too.”

“I’m not going to sit in here’til the kits come.” Greaseball countered. He already felt unbearably lazy taking constant breaks, but to spend all day in here on his ass doing nothing?

“You won’t have much choice soon.” Wrench pointed out, patting the curve of his belly. It was honestly impressive how much work the diesel was still trying to do this far along. Impressive, and foolish. “These four are going to keep getting heavier. And as your body prepares to give birth, you won’t want to leave your nest anyway.”

At one time, Greaseball would’ve protested that his body did not control him. Lately, though, he was being proved wrong. Of course the nesting urges would grow until he wasn’t capable of leaving. Still- “I’m not going to sit in here for the next two months with nothing to do.”

“Of course you will have things to do.” Wrench’s tone changed to be gentle and soothing. “Just look at this nest. Are the sides high enough to keep inquisitive little kits from climbing out? Is the bottom cushioned enough to keep them from being damaged as they learn to stand?”

Her words caused a sort of fog to come over his mind. She was so right. His nest wasn’t nearly good enough. Greaseball immediately set about plucking at the soft things that made up his nest, rearranging and shifting the blankets and pillows to a better shape. 

Carefully, Wrench and Electra extracted themselves from the nest and moved a safe distance away from the brooding diesel. 

“How did you manage that?” Electra asked the repair truck softly, watching his mate hum happily as he set about his work.

“Pregnancy brain.” Wrench replied with a shrug. “Pregnant engines are very easily distracted. Just needed to redirect him to a more useful task.”

“Was. Was he really close to losing the kits last night?” That worried Electra much more. The electric had already punished Krupp, placing a belt on the armaments truck that prevented him from extending his spike without the key that Electra kept in his storage, but if there had really been a danger of Greaseball going into early labor. Well, the punishment might have to get a little more harsh. 

“No.” Wrench shook her head. She’d really only said that to hopefully scare Greaseball out of his funk, though it hadn’t been a lie. “Our Krupp is not so foolish as to fuck him hard enough to trigger birth. But, it is a possibility. Especially if Greaseball does not learn to relax. Or attempts more stupid skating tricks.”

Electra frowned at the thought, looking over at the diesel engine who had a soft little smile on his face as he re-arranged the nest. “Well, then I’ll just have to keep him happy, won’t I?”

“That is your most important job for the next two months.” Wrench said with a grin. “Our most important job. Bring him oil, cuddle, clean the shed and make sure it’s ready for the kits when they get here. Fuck him until he can’t move anymore.”

“That I know we can handle.” Electra smirked. “Though, Krupp will be using only his valve for a little while.”

“I doubt he is a danger to Greaseball or the kits.” Wrench had worried briefly when she had heard from Purse that the armaments truck had been left with Greaseball alone, but Krupp really had been very restrained. And according to Purse, the diesel had been very insistent on getting fucked hard. Really who could say no to that?

“Disobeying me still results in punishment.” Electra said in a lofty voice, turning away to skate over to the nest that occupied most of the far corner of the shed. “Now if you excuse me, I believe I must attend to my mate.”

 

As predicted, Greaseball remained in the nest for the rest of the day. He was just too sore, and too preoccupied, to go out and try to work. By the time evening rolled around, though, Electra managed to coax him out and get him into the washrack. It was time for a good buffing session to get out the scratches still decorating his upper body. Electra simply couldn’t stand for his mate to look less than spectacular. 

Grumbling slightly that no one was looking at his paintwork past the weight he had put on, Greaseball still followed the electric and several of his components into the shower room. Normally, paint maintenance was done in engine form. It was simply easiest that way. Now, though, that clearly wasn’t an option. 

“Don’t worry, dear, we have plenty of experience cleaning up damage from a rough fuck.” Purse reassured as he and Volta laid out buffing tools and cleaning implements. Apparently, Electra never did any of his own brightwork and instead preferred the attentions of his components. The electric was there, of course, but purely as a “supervisory” measure. 

A shipping container had been dragged into the shower so that Greaseball did not have to stand or sit on the floor, and Krupp was fiercely guarding the door to prevent any intrusion while the others worked. Already, the armaments truck had turned away a very perturbed Rusty and sent the steamer off to wash at the coach shed instead. 

Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, Greaseball couldn’t help but rumble a pleased note as gentle hands carefully washed his body. He was well used to being washed, usually by the human crews whose job it was to make sure all the passenger trains were in top form, but rarely was it done so lovingly. 

Buffing cloths came out, carefully rubbing away the gouges and scrapes in his upper body. Purse was at his back and Volta at his front, soothing away the aches left from the night before. Volta pushed softly at his shoulders, encouraging him to lean back to allow her better access to his chest. Occasionally her hands slipped down to caress his belly, simply unable to resist the temptation to touch prominent bulge. One of the kits shifted restlessly, a hand or maybe a foot pushing out against the rubbery barrier covering the gestation chamber. 

“They’re very strong.” Volta said with wonder, tapping in response to the little movements. 

“Of course they are.” Electra said proudly, sitting cross-legged on the floor within easy reach of his mate. “They’re my young. And yours, of course.” He added hastily after a glare from Greaseball. “They will be fast and powerful.”

“As long as they’re healthy.” Greaseball murmured. He had dreams of the kits growing up like him; to be strong, versatile engines capable of working any task assigned to them. The kind of engines any railway would be proud to own. 

“I shall have to keep feeding you, then.” Volta set aside her buffing cloth for a moment to produce a sweet oil treat from her storage. Greaseball agreeably allowed the freezer truck to feed him the sweet, unable to find the desire to even move his hands. It was surprisingly nice to be pampered for a little bit. 

As Purse and Volta finished their buffing, exchanging their cloths for rags and cans of polish, Greaseball was having a hard time not nodding off to sleep right where he sat. With the soft, massaging hands on his torso, the cool polish being worked into his plating, and the candies being offered every few minutes for his consumption, it was like being king of the world. 

Gradually, through the sleepy haze fogging his mind, Greaseball became aware of a tightening sensation in his middle. He was well used to the almost-uncomfortable feeling of fullness that resulted from being this far along in his pregnancy, but this was different. This was an insistent pressure, one that needed to be relieved. Rubbing a hand gently on the underside of his belly, he felt his teats harden at the touch. 

Electra was watching him curiously, surprised to see a little sheen of oil appear on the floor underneath the diesel. “Are you. . .leaking oil?”

Greaseball shrugged, drawing his hand away from his middle to look at his fingers. Thin oil coated them. “You lot have been feeding me too much. I’m overproducing already.”

“Well.” Electra said slowly, gracefully slinking closer to the diesel. Volta silently moved out of her master’s way as the electric settled between his mate’s legs. “Someone will just have to take care of that, won’t they?”

Unless he wanted to just continue leaking oil everywhere, someone was going to have to drink it. And Electra was a very willing subject.

The electric bent his head down and licked one of the hard, swollen teats, encouraged by the shuddering hiss that resulted. Greaseball leaned back on his hands, unable to go too far because Purse was still polishing his shoulders. It was a supreme effort to not just let himself slide to the floor and curl up on his side like his body wanted to do, that position was better for nursing kits, but helpful hands from the money truck behind him kept him upright. 

Electra nipped at the teat at his mouth, earning a reproachful smack from his mate, before actually wrapping his lips around it and giving an eager suck. Unlike last time he tried this, there was more than just a couple sips waiting for him. A steady stream of sweet oil flowed into his mouth, a mixture of lubricating oil, refined diesel, and metal slurry to help the kits grow big and strong. He’d probably regret this later, his body couldn’t process fuel oil like diesel, but for now it was worth it. 

His tank was starting to send signals that it was full, unlike a diesel Electra only had one supply tank and its capacity was not particularly large, but the electric was determined not to leave his mate uncomfortably full. Electra pulled back for a moment before turning his attention to another teat. They were all connected to the same supply, but that didn’t mean Electra wanted any of them neglected. 

Finally, the oil stopped flowing. Electra gave one last energetic suck, but nothing came. It was probably good, his middle was now the one uncomfortably tight, but looking up at the way Greaseball’s eyes were shut in bliss made it all worth it. Maybe next time he’d have to recruit Wrench or Volta to help, those two components had engines that could easily handle the diesel fuel, but this time he’d wanted it all to himself. 

Though there was no more oil to be had, Electra continued licking and nibbling at the surface of his mate’s belly. Keeping him distracted while Volta and Purse finished up their polishing and put away the supplies. 

Regretfully, it was time to get back to the shed. Electra slowly stood, repressing a groan at the slosh of his too-full tank, and reached down to grasp Greaseball’s arms. “Come on, up you get.”

Greaseball whined a little as he was tugged to his wheels, feeling far too comfortable to move but knowing he couldn’t spend the night in the shower. Still, he needed the support of the components as they slowly led him back to the shed and lowered him down into the newly-rearranged nest in the back. By the time Electra had curled up beside him, he was already asleep.


	15. Chapter 15

Despite Wrench’s threats, she still grudgingly allowed Greaseball to keep shunting in the yards. She warned him to be careful, to take breaks whenever he needed, and continued to assign Krupp to guard him. The armaments truck had apparently been given permission to be around him, even sexually, as long as the two stuck to toys. (Krupp wouldn’t be getting the use of his spike back for some time, apparently.) Greaseball still didn’t like others managing his sex life, but apparently getting pounded so hard he couldn’t walk the next day wasn’t good for the kits. Just for them, he could refrain from being rough in berth for a few months. 

Honestly, as the month wore on, Greaseball was beginning to look forward taking that time off. He’d made sort of a promise to himself he’d work as long as he was able, but that time was coming to an end. Every morning, it was more and more difficult to get up and out of his nest. Not just due to the weight of the kits, but because part of him recognized just how comfortable and warm and safe the pile of soft things was and didn’t want to leave. Throughout the day, he found himself thinking about his nest. Wanting to return to it. 

It really didn’t help that, now that his auxiliary fuelling system was active, he had to be “drained” about once a day. Greaseball was still rather embarrassed about that, and always beat a hasty retreat to his shed when he felt himself start to leak. They really had been feeding him too much, creating an excess in materials even with the continually growing kits, and his body was just trying to find some way to process it. Still, he never could turn down candies from Volta, or a can of diesel so helpfully offered by one of his gang. 

Normally, when Krupp saw Greaseball suddenly abandon his work and head back for his shed, the armaments truck sent out a call to his master and fellow components. At least one of them was usually free to come by and assist. Krupp, along with Purse, rarely drank much themselves. Without engines, they had difficultly processing everything Greaseball was producing. (Joule had the same problem, but just didn’t care and sometimes drank herself to sickness anyway) 

One afternoon, however, caught Greaseball in a bit of a bind. Because Electra and all of his components were out on a train and therefor not around to help him when he felt a bit of oil drip from his belly. He normally didn’t let it get this far, leaving when the pressure in his middle got to the point where it was distractingly hot and tight, but there had been this vain hope that maybe Electra would return. Apparently not. 

Still, Greaseball headed back for his shed. Besides the insistent weight in his belly, somehow feeling heavier than the mass of the kits, he could also feel the barometric pressure dropping and a certain wetness in the air. Rain was coming, and Greaseball didn’t particularly want to be outside in it. He supposed he could always . . . express himself, though that would undoubtably leave a mess. When he reached the shed, however, another solution presented itself. 

Gook was just returning to the shed, having finished his morning assignments, when he spotted his boss and paused respectfully. His little wave of greeting gave way to an expression of concern, though, when he got a better look at the older diesel. “Uh, you doing okay, boss? You look like you’re leaking oil a bit.”

“It’s just my aux fuelling system. The kits ain’t here yet, so it’s going a bit crazy.” Greaseball reassured quickly before the younger engine could get too worried. It then occurred to Greaseball that Gook was a diesel engine, probably in need of a bit of fuel, and was the closest thing he had to family. His gang wouldn’t go off talking about private things. “Hey, you’re done for the day, yeah? Did you want to. .. help me out a little with this? That damn electric is off doing a job.”

“Help. . . ?” It took Gook a minute to figure out just what Greaseball meant, cheeks turning red when he realized what was being asked of him. “Uh, Sure. I mean, that can’t be comfortable, leaking oil all over like that.”

Good enough. Greaseball turned away to unlock his shed, gesturing for Gook to follow as he opened the door and rolled inside. Past the couch, all the way to the back where his empty nest was waiting for him. Gook quickly bustled forward to help Greaseball lower himself down onto the pile of blankets before sinking down to his knees a little more cautiously. 

“So, uh.” Gook carefully crawled a little closer. Greaseball was lying on his side with his back to the wall, rolling back a little to present his belly to the younger diesel. Gook curled up in the nest, placing his face level with the older diesel’s middle, and leaned forward to give the oil beading on one of Greaseball’s teats a lick. The encouraging shudder and soft whimper from big passenger diesel was enough to get Gook to latch onto one of the teats and give an enthusiastic suck. 

The oil was hot and sweet, maybe a little rich for Gook’s systems but it tasted so good he didn’t care. The young diesel couldn’t help but be reminded of his own carrier, and of nursing alongside the rest of his brothers when he was just a young kit. Unconsciously, Gook raised his hands and began to knead at Greaseball’s belly to encourage the oil to flow. 

In his mind, Greaseball knew full well that Gook was an adult engine. Fully grown and mature. In that moment, though, Greaseball could see nothing but a youngling at his teat. His engine purred noisily as finally, the pressure around his middle was relieved. Gook was purring nearly as loud, the sound only encouraging Greaseball’s body to let down more oil. He would definitely have to let his gang drain him more often. Though it was nice when a little session ended in sex, this was more pleasant. To lie in his nest, feeling the rumble of another diesel next to him, it was just what that kit-obsessed part of his brain needed. 

Normally, fuelling up meant a certain energy surge for an internal-combustion engine. Now, though, as Gook’s tank filled he suddenly wanted little more than to sleep. Maybe it was something in the oil, or maybe it was just because he was curled up in a warm nest, but Gook was finding it more and more difficult to try and stay awake. 

As Greaseball felt Gook begin to slow, one hand absentmindedly drifted down to stroke the younger diesel’s hair. Just as he was getting comfortable, about ready to drift off to sleep himself, the rain he had felt earlier began to fall. It pattered against the metal roof of the shed, making Greaseball incredibly grateful he was now inside. The sound didn’t seem to be bothering Gook at all, judging by the soft idle of his engine as he pulled back from the teat he had been working at and snuggled into the blankets instead. Yet, lying there, Greaseball couldn’t help but think of the others out there in the weather. Electra was somewhere pulling a train, of course. And the rest of the gang was out there too, no doubt shirking their work or trying to find some excuse to come in from the rain. 

Greaseball suddenly activated his radio equipment, sending out a short call to the freight diesels with whom he shared a private line. There had been a time, when the gang was young, storms had been a time to huddle together for warmth and comfort in the sheds. Greaseball had not participated in years, but there was no time like the present to re-start that tradition. 

Gook was well and truly asleep, Greaseball not far behind him, when the door to the shed creaked open and another black diesel slipped inside. Gear gave himself a shake to get the rain off before skating back towards the berth area. He had been surprised to receive a short call over the radio, but would never pass up on a chance to spend the evening in a pile with his brothers. Especially since it was Greaseball, his leader, who had invited him. 

Moving carefully, quietly, Gear settled himself down into the nest near the older diesel’s head. Greaseball’s only response was to shift so that his head was pillowed on the other engine’s middle, inviting the close contact from another warm body. 

Over the course of the next hour, more gang members trickled in until all six were gathered in the back of the shed. It was a bit of a tight fit, the nest was large but not that large, but the brothers had no qualms about sleeping directly on top of each other. They were all careful, however, to not lie directly on top of Greaseball. His armor could handle the weight of another engine, but he was missing so much of his outer plating right now it was just best not to risk it. 

 

It was quite late, with the rain coming down in earnest, when Electra finally returned to the sheds. He’d been forced to wait at a junction for a delayed passenger train, and was now quite irritated in addition to being soaking wet. Bully Control for sending him on long trains that kept him away from his pregnant mate, even if the work was important. 

Electra quickly slipped into the shed, components trailing behind him. They all took a moment to try and shake the worst of the water from their bodies before going back to the berth area. 

“Well then.” Electra stopped in surprise when he saw the pile of bodies taking up the entire nest. Just visible at the bottom was Greaseball, clearly comfortably asleep curled up with his whole gang. “I see somebody couldn’t wait for us.”

“Awww, it’s cute.” Joule giggled. “I want in on the diesel pile.”

Before Electra could say anything, Joule had wiggled her way into the pile and firmly inserted herself in the tangle of limbs. This woke a couple of the gang members, who sleepily looked up to see Electra standing over them and quickly scrambled out of the nest to give the electric engine space. The two diesels instead tottered over to the empty berth and collapsed onto it, almost immediately asleep again. After a moment, the other components joined them. No point in seeking out their shed now with the storm outside. 

Rolling his eyes at the tangle of diesels and components now heaped on the berth, Electra bent down to plug himself into the wall charging outlet. Now, a little space in the nest was cleared so that Electra could gently settle himself down and cuddle up against his mate’s front. Greaseball groaned, the activity finally rousing him from sleep. 

“You’re back.” The diesel murmured, turning his head a little to accept a kiss from the electric engine. He frowned when water dripped off the tip of Electra’s nose and onto his face. “And you’re wet.”

“I am.” Electra curled a little to tuck his face in under the other engine’s chin, one hand going to the diesel’s belly to caress the curve of the kits. “It’s raining out there. I see you got lonely while I was gone.”

Greaseball hummed in agreement. “Used to do this a lot. When they were younger. Good way to spend a storm.”

Of course he had. Electra could just imagine the diesel begrudgingly opening his stall to a group of young, scared engines. Pretending to be annoyed but secretly proud and protective. “You’ll be a good parent.” Electra said softly. 

“Yeah?” One of Greaseball’s hands moved to join Electra’s on his belly, feeling one of the kits shift restlessly inside. They’d be here soon enough, and then he’d be responsible for them. “I hope so.”

“I know so.” Electra kissed the diesel again, intertwining his fingers with his mate’s. A sudden flash of light illuminated the stall for the briefest of seconds, the deep roll of thunder following a few beats later. Outside, the wind began to pick up and the rain battered harder against the metal walls of the shed. 

One of the other diesels in the nest shifted restlessly, wrapping arms around Joule like she was a teddy bear, but otherwise everyone seemed to be asleep. Even as the thunder came again, louder and closer. 

Well, almost everyone was asleep. Thunder boomed over the shed and Greaseball grunted, pressing his hand to his middle. Electra could feel the movement under the surface of his mate’s belly, kits wriggling unhappily, and guessed that the diesel had probably just been kicked rather hard. “I guess a few certain someones don’t like thunder.” The electric chuckled quietly. There was no place the little ones could be safer, warm in their carrier’s womb in a comfortable nest surrounded by protective adult engines and freight cars, but the loud noises clearly unsettled them anyway. 

“Apparently.” Greaseball began to hum, deep notes that could be felt more than heard as his engine revved up a little from its previous slow idle. Hopefully, the low vibrations would soothe the unborn kits and drown out the sound of the thunder. 

Electra was quick to join, humming along to the wordless tune. It seemed to be working, the harsh movements of the unborn engines beginning to calm, when the thunder cracked again and the power suddenly went out. The electric engine cut himself off with a deep frown, sitting up when he felt the energy coming through his charging cable abruptly cease. 

“What’s up?” With no lights on in the shed, Greaseball didn’t realize what had happened. He only saw Electra looking worried, dimly illuminated by the red light of his scrollbox. 

“Power’s out.” Electra muttered, lifting his power cable for emphasis. “I’m too low on charge to get up in the morning if it doesn’t come back.” An electric engine out of charge was a useless, unconscious lump unless they were reconnected to some kind of power. 

“Oh.” There was no telling how long the power would be out, with a spring storm like this. Could be only a few hours, could be more than a day. If power was down to the sheds, it was probably down to the whole yard. Including the catenaries over the rails. “Do you want to take a line off me?”

Electra stared at his mate, rather confused by what he meant. “Your oil is sweet, but I can’t process it.”

“An electrical line, dumbass. I’m a diesel-electric engine.” Greaseball rolled his eyes. “My engines are connected to generators. I should have a power cord here somewhere.” He blindly ran a hand down his frame, looking for where his cables ended up in this form. After a moment, he held out a thick, black cable. 

“Ah.” Electra felt as though he probably should’ve known that, taking the offered cable and examining the end. He should have a port capable of taking that connector. Still, he hesitated. “Will you be alright? It won’t affect the little ones?”

Greaseball paused. He doubted it, he’d be running his engines like normal, the power would just be going to Electra instead of to his traction motors. “Don’t think so. Should be fine. You could wake your repair truck.”

Electra grimaced. Wrench would not be happy to be woken up in the middle of the night for a stupid question. He was sure it’d be fine. Plugging the cable into himself, Electra lay back down and returned to his previous position snuggled into his mate. It wasn’t quite the same as being connected to a proper charging port, but he could feel his battery charging. It was a little more intimate, drawing power directly from his mate’s systems. The deep rumble of Greaseball’s engine comforted him as they both fell asleep, the storm rolling on past overhead. 

 

The next morning, everyone slowly crept from their sheds to inspect the damage from the storm the night before. Wrench was one of the first up, as a crane truck no doubt she’d be called upon to clear blockages from the tracks. She ushered the freight diesels from the shed, sending them out to start the cleanup effort, before turning her attention to the still-sleeping forms of her master and his mate. 

Shaking her head, Wrench picked up a can of diesel and went to wake them. She hated to rouse Greaseball, the pregnant diesel needed all the sleep he could get, but no doubt he’d be very low on fuel after running his engine all night to charge Electra. 

Greaseball groaned as he felt a hand nudge his shoulder, slowly opening his eyes. The sunlight streaming in through the high windows of the shed meant that the storm had passed in the night, a good thing for the railroad at least. The gang had already up and left, leaving Greaseball sandwiched between Joule and Electra in his nest. 

“You’re going to need this.” Wrench held out the can of diesel, helping Greaseball into a sitting position so that he could drink it. Once he had started slowly sipping at the fuel, the repair truck unplugged him from Electra. The rate of the electric’s scrollbox indicated he was fully charged, no need to leave the two connected. 

“How’s it look outside?” Greaseball finished off the can and crushed it in his hand. “Power still out?”

Wrench paused, tuning into the local radio band and listening to the chatter on the airwaves. A frown came over her pale face. “Yes, powers out to the whole line. A tree fell across the catenary.”

“Which means I’m staying in here today.” Electra had been about to get up, but let himself fall back into the blankets with a sigh. Yes, he was fully charged, but the battery power wouldn’t last too long without a catenary for him to connect to. 

“Welp, have fun.” Greaseball shifted to his knees and slowly pushed himself to his wheels, Wrench assisting when she realized just what his intentions were. 

“You aren’t going to stay here?” That put quite the dent in Electra’s plans for the day. He had been looking forward to a lazy morning with his mate. 

“Want to at least check out the yards. Make sure everybody’s alright. I’ll be back later.” With that, Greaseball skated out. 

The coaches were all probably fine, they had several nice, big sheds to shelter in. The freight cars didn’t have the luxury of sheds, though there were large open-sided roofs over several sections of track in the yards. It seemed that once the rain had begun in earnest, there had been a scuffle over the driest sections of the covered tracks. The losers were a bit wet and tired, but otherwise fine. The freight were no strangers to foul weather. 

That didn’t mean there wasn’t a bit of a mess in the yard. The wind had blown over an old water-tower, blocking several lines. Tank and Gear were over there, helping move the large chunks of wood and metal off the line. Control would probably be happy, it saved him the cost of having a team come in to dismantle it. 

Greaseball couldn’t really bend over anymore, so his ability to assist in the cleanup was rather limited. As he slowly moved through the less-used parts of the yard, he was surprised to see a flash of blue. “Dinah?”

“Oh, hello Greaseball!” The dining car came over to give him a friendly kiss on the cheek. “You get through the storm alright?”

“Fine.” Greaseball looked around, wondering what she was doing in the freight yards. “Why aren’t you at the coach shed?”

“I was just dropping off CB.” She said brightly. “He doesn’t have a shed, so he came to spend the night with me because of the storm. He didn’t want to stick around once all the coaches started waking up and getting ready, though.”

“Do you need someone to take you back?” Greaseball offered. Without an engine, coaches didn’t move too quick on their own. 

“No, I’ll be fine. Oh, Rusty!” Dinah waved to the steamer who was coming past, heading from his shed to the coach yards. Rusty paused long enough for Dinah to grab onto his couplers, then the two skated off. 

“She gone?”

Greaseball turned around in surprise, seeing CB poking his head out from behind a building. The caboose looked unusually tired, the lack of a smile making him appear much closer to his actual age. “Yeah, she headed back to the passenger yard.”

“Good.” CB suddenly bent double and heaved, a bit of oil spattering onto the gravel ballast. 

“You sick?” Greaseball frowned as he came over, slowly sinking to one knee and placing a hand on the caboose’s shoulderbox. 

“I guess.” CB sat down with a huff, one hand on his middle and the other over his mouth as though he were afraid more would come up. “Can’t keep anything down, it’s awful. Been like this since the party.”

“Since the party?” Greaseball questioned. “That was a month ago! Have you been to the repair shed?”

CB shook his head. “It’ll go away on its own, eventually. Not like my fuelling system is that complicated.” He groaned, coughing into his hand. 

That was true. A caboose didn’t have an engine, so CB only needed small amounts of lubricating oil and a bit of metal to maintain his systems. Which made the sickness only that much more concerning. 

“You’d better be careful. Keep this up, and people’ll think you’ve ended up like me.” Greaseball attempted to joke, patting his belly for emphasis. He well remembered the “morning sickness” phase of his pregnancy, when diesel just plain refused to stay inside him. 

CB looked up at him, eyes wide and face going pale. The hand on his middle clenched into a fist, pressing into his abdomen. 

“Wait, you don’t actually think.” Greaseball said slowly. The caboose –had- been sitting around doing nothing since the race. Lounging on sidings, probably eating and drinking more than usual. Add in his new girlfriend and it was the perfect recipe for a car’s reproductive system to activate. “With Dinah?”

“We like to mix it up.” CB said with a helpless shrug. It would make sense. Why he got sick at the party. Why he was sick now. Why he was tired and sore lately despite not actually doing anything at all. Dinah hadn’t noticed, CB didn’t want to worry her and was very good at hiding when he wasn’t feeling well, but it just hadn’t been possible to hide from everyone. Wouldn’t be, if what he suspected was true. 

“Lemme see if Wrench is around.” Greaseball offered, getting on the radio. There probably wasn’t anybody at the repair shed, all the humans were busy with the clean up effort, but hopefully Wrench hadn’t gotten too far yet. :Hey, Wrench out there? This is Greaseball, can you come to the freight yard?:

:Why do you need Wrench?: Electra’s voice came over the line. :Are you hurt? Did something happen?:

:I’m fine: Greaseball rolled his eyes. :Just want her to look at something. She around or not?:

“I’m here.” Wrench’s voice reached his audio receptors rather than coming over the radio, making Greaseball look up sharply. The crane truck was standing there next to him, hands on her hips. “If you called me because you got to your knees and can’t get up again. . .”

“What? No! I just want you to look at him.” Greaseball pointed at CB. “He’s been sick for more than a month.”

“Sick?” Wrench redirected her focus onto the caboose, pushing him into his back so that she could examine him more closely. CB didn’t have the energy to protest, lying back and letting her look him over. 

Other than the fact that he was low on metal and beginning to run a bit dry on lubricant, Wrench didn’t see any real reason for the caboose to be sick. Until she ran her hands across his abdomen and picked up an odd signal. Pursing her lips, Wrench pressed lightly on CB’s middle. The caboose groaned in response, not liking the pressure on his sore abdomen. 

“Well then, someone’s been having fun.” Wrench sat back on her heels, letting CB sit up. “Congratulations, you’re three months pregnant. Twins, which explains how tired you are. Try slowly munching on plain crackers throughout the day until the sickness fades.”

CB wasn’t really listening. His mind was still stuck on the fact that, after many years of playing around, things had finally caught up to him. Twins. What was he going to say to Dinah?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise?


	16. Chapter 16

It turned out that telling Dinah would have to wait a little while. Her train had already left for the day, and wouldn’t be back until evening. This wasn’t really something you told your partner via radio, especially since Dinah didn’t have radio herself and the news would have to be related via human crew. No, best to wait until she was back again to hear the news firsthand. 

Before she left, Wrench decided that it would be best to remove CB’s abdominal plating right then. He wasn’t so far along yet that his outer plating was getting tight, but it would only be another two or three weeks until it had to come off anyway. Since CB wasn’t working, no reason not to remove it right now. 

Unlike Greaseball, CB wasn’t heavily armored and was mostly plated in wood. The plating over his abdomen was thin steel covered in wood, and when removed revealed the smooth surface of his belly. Freed from the covering, the caboose’s belly had perhaps the slightest outward curve. Not noticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking for it, but undeniably there. 

As Wrench left, off to help clear up the damage from the storm, CB pressed one hand to his middle. Just under the surface, he could feel the firm mass of his gestation chamber with its two little passengers inside. He felt uncomfortably exposed with the coverplates gone, clearly advertising his condition to anyone with an ounce of brain, and for once wished he had his own shed to retreat to. 

“You gonna be alright?” Greaseball didn’t have anything he needed to do that day, and so figured he might as well keep the caboose company. He knew well enough what CB was going through, after all, and while the diesel was rubbish at being reassuring or giving advice he could at least answer questions and just be there so that CB didn’t have to be alone. 

“Yeah, course.” CB scoffed, putting his classic smile back on his face. The mask was strained at the edges, though, showing the stress underneath. “Not like I’ve been doing anything, anyway. Might as well sit and gestate for awhile.”

“Riiight.” Greaseball drawled, slowly easing himself down to sit next to the caboose. “And you’re ready to end up like this?” The diesel patted a hand on his belly, so obviously round and heavy with young. 

“Somehow I don’t think I’ll end up quite that fat.” CB cracked, watching Greaseball struggle to sit down on the ground. “Twins, remember? Freight cars aren’t crazy like you diesels.”

“You also weigh what, a quarter what I do? Less?” Greaseball let his legs stretch out in front of him, rubbing at a spot high on his abdomen where he could feel one of the kits kicking. “I’m made to handle this many.”

“Yes, you’re handling it quite well. You going to be able to get up from the ground?” The attempts at humor were to try and hide the nervousness CB felt. He weighed much less than a quarter of Greaseball’s weight, barely 25 tons compared to the diesel’s 150. There was a reason that freight cars usually only carried one, rarely two, young at a time. CB had never heard of a caboose having twins, but then, he’d never known one that sat around lounging in sidings for half a year with nothing to do but eat and drink. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been in such good repair since he was first built into a caboose, which apparently meant to his body that it was a perfect time to activate his reproductive systems. 

“I can manage.” Greaseball would probably need to find someone to help him to his wheels later, but he wasn’t going to admit that. “You don’t get to make fat jokes anymore, you won’t be so skinny for much longer.”

That reminder made CB go silent for a moment. He was still holding one hand to his middle, hadn’t moved it since he got the news. He had another two, maybe three weeks before he truly began to show. CB watched with sharp eyes as Greaseball continued to try and calm his active kits, surprised that he could actually see the movement under the surface of the diesel’s belly. Reaching out with one hand, CB placed his palm on the round curve of the engine’s middle. Greaseball was a little startled by the touch, but didn’t push the caboose away. 

“Seems like they’re having their own little party in there.” CB drew back after a moment, forcing a grin back onto his face. 

“Or something.” Greaseball barked a laugh. “Usually they’re sleeping and quiet but then sometimes they like to kick the shit out of me. I’m surprised they haven’t damaged anything.”

“Can’t be as bad as some of the crew I’ve carried in the past.” More than a century of being a caboose meant that CB had seen all sorts. Suddenly, he gave a quiet snicker. “Hey, maybe I should name these two Conductor and Brakeman.”

Greaseball raised an eyebrow, looking at the giggling caboose with faint confusion. “What?”

“Well, because they’re riding in a caboose.” CB explained, making Greaseball groan and roll his eyes. 

“Eh, crap.” Greaseball suddenly bit out, looking down at his middle with a frown. “I gotta come up with names for these little shits.” He’d been so preoccupied, thinking about so many things, that the fact that the kits would need names had slipped his mind. “Guess I should talk to that damn electric about it.”

“It might be a good idea to include your mate in that.” CB was forever amused by the seemingly antagonistic relationship between the two engines. He would, of course, include Dinah in naming their offspring. After he told her about them. The caboose couldn’t imagine his girlfriend reacting with anything but excitement, but who knew what would happen. This was one thing he had never experienced before. 

“He ain’t my mate.” Greaseball grumbled. 

“Oh, please.” CB scoffed. “You share a shed, sleep together every night, have incredibly kinky sex from what I’ve been told. For Starlight’s sake, you’re pregnant with his kits! You’re mates.”

Greaseball just gave a disgruntled hmph. CB had a point, Greaseball just wasn’t entirely sure what his relationship with Electra was yet. The electric engine was an irritating, pompous ass. But, at the same time, he was incredibly caring. In his way. He was unlike any of the coaches that Greaseball had dated in the past. It was a bit of a surprise to Greaseball to realize that he honestly wasn’t sure what he’d do without Electra and his components there. 

“Fine.” Greaseball finally admitted. “Maybe he’s my mate. Maybe. I still get first go at naming this lot though.” Electra would probably pick something terrible anyway. 

CB let out a triumphant laugh. Relationships between engines were still relatively uncommon, most engines paired off with coaches, so of course Greaseball would feel awkward about being with another engine. Especially an electric. Serve him right for all that “diesel is best” bullshit. “And I’m sure you’ll pick great names.” 

Four names. He could come up with four names. How hard could it be? Greaseball was distracted from his subject, though, when he saw CB suddenly frown and whack his hand against one of the silver audio boosters that sat over his ears. “Something up?”

“Eh?” CB fiddled with the settings on the boosters for a moment before giving up. “I think my battery is about dead. Things’re cutting out.”

“Battery?” Right, CB had a battery that ran his radio and electrical systems. Greaseball was pretty sure that the caboose charged with an axle generator, which meant that he was only charging if his wheels were turning. “Wait, how have you been keeping charged until now?”

“Extension cord.” CB had been filching power off one of the light poles in the yard, which conveniently had an outlet. Unlike an electric engine, he was still perfectly capable of getting around with a dead battery. But his audio boosters ran on electricity, so without power he couldn’t hear shit.

` Greaseball sighed and opened a panel on his side, revealing an outlet. Seems that he was just going to end up the yard generator for a bit until the power was back on. “Here.”

CB raised his eyebrows at the offered outlet before wordlessly uncoiling a long extension cord and plugging himself in. Greaseball revved his engines a little, increasing the power output from his generators to help the caboose charge faster. “You get to go and grab me some diesel later.” 

“I think I can handle that.” CB leaned back, twirling the extension cord around a finger. “Probably won’t be getting your ass off the ground though.”

“And that’s your last joke at the expense of the pregnant guy.” Greaseball warned. “See if I help you up when you’re big and heavy.”

CB’s laughs faded a little bit at that. If he was really going through with this, he would need somewhere safe to nest. Preferably sooner rather than later, though it would be several months yet before he was so gravid he had trouble getting around. Only he didn’t have a shed, living outside on the caboose siding, and Dinah shared the coach shed communally with the rest of the coaches. Lovely though the coaches were, they were incredibly nosey and CB knew he wouldn’t get a moment’s peace if he moved in there. 

“I’ll need to ask Control about a shed.” CB muttered, rubbed the back of his head. He knew he was still on his owner’s bad side, no big surprise there, but the man would have to be informed about the two new additions to his railway on the way. Control did like Dinah, though, so maybe the dining car could sweet talk him. And if that failed, there were enough disused warehouses and shacks around the yard he could probably hole up in one without anybody noticing. It was so troublesome being at a yard no longer fooled by his “goody two-trucks” routine, but there would certainly be no moving to new rails now. 

Greaseball rumbled in agreement. He was lucky, as Control’s favorite (or, at least, once favorite) he had a private stall. He couldn’t imagine nesting in a shed shared with a bunch of other engines, even if he occasionally invited them to share. 

The two remained sitting there for a while longer, lost in their own thoughts, when there was a loud air-chime horn and Tank rushed past. Upon seeing Greaseball, the young diesel screeched to a halt and whipped around. 

“Boss, there you are!” Tank skated over, “You hear over the radio? There’s some kind of trouble in the coach yard.”

“What kind of trouble?” Greaseball sat up a little straighter. Knowing the coaches, it could be anything from a cracked window to actual disaster.

“Dunno, but it sounded serious.” Tank said with a shrug. He was itching to go see what all the excitement was, but didn’t want to just rush away from his boss. 

“Well if it’s serious then we should definitely go.” CB wasn’t about to let something interesting go down without him. The caboose unplugged himself from Greaseball and hopped to his wheels, then turned and had to stifle laughter when he saw the diesel struggling to get up. Oh, he knew he wasn’t supposed to make any more fat jokes, CB would be in the same situation soon enough himself, but it was very, very hard to resist. 

Tank was quick to grab Greaseball’s arm to try and help the older diesel up, though it took the combined strength of Tank and CB to get Greaseball back on his wheels. The expression on Greaseball’s face promised pain to the first person who said anything about his weight, so CB wisely shut his mouth and grabbed onto the diesel’s couplers instead. 

Despite the restrictive bulk of his belly, Greaseball was still a powerful engine and easily kept up with Tank as they skated towards the coach yard. CB was very light, barely pulling at Greaseball’s couplers as the trio made fairly good time across the yard. Not too fast, of course, for the big diesel had gotten his share of lectures from Wrench on not doing anything stressful or energetic at this point of his pregnancy, but the coach yard wasn’t far away and they were there quick enough anyway. 

It was the middle of the day, so most of the yard’s rolling stock was out on trains, but there was still a fair crowd standing around in the gravel ballast in front of the coach sheds. At the center it all, Greaseball could make out the blue steel frame of Stamp, the local Railway Post Office car. Odd, normally the mail car was part of the local fast commuter run and wasn’t in the yards that time of day. 

“Come now, what’s happened here, Stamp?” Poppa McCoy shouldered through the gathered rolling stock to approach the mail car, who was clutching something to their chest. 

“Oh, Poppa.” Stamp’s steel shoulderboxes heaved in relief. “We were out on the morning run, and when we was rounding the bend near Bridle Falls we heard a crying. We stopped right up and found this next to the tracks.” 

Shifting slightly, Stamp revealed what was in their arms and Greaseball felt his breath catch. It was a tiny, infant coach. She couldn’t have been more than three months old, whimpering quietly as she clutched tightly to the mail car’s chest. 

“Oh my.” Poppa said quietly, peering at the tiny coachling. “We must have had a transport train headed for a shop come through in the night. With that storm, they probably didn’t even notice this little one fall off.”

“She’s got no maker’s markings or railway insignia. She needs to be fed, and someone to watch her until her owners come to claim her. If they bother.” Stamp recounted. Trust an RPO car to be straight to the point. “I can’t keep her, I’m needed for the afternoon run and I’m already behind with my sorting.”

A murmur ran through the gathered rolling stock. A coach would be best, but most were still out on passenger runs. They wouldn’t return until later that evening, someone would need to look after the little one until then. Until a willing parent stepped up. 

The soft little mewls of the infant coach commanded Greaseball’s attention as everyone discussed the surprisingly discovery. Skating forward, the diesel held out his arms. “Give her here.”

Everyone looked at him in surprise. Stamp hesitantly passed over the little kit, glad to be giving the infant to someone more capable but unsure that a diesel engine would be suitable to care for a coach. 

“Not to keep, mind.” Greaseball clarified, cradling the lightweight form in his arms and stroking a thumb over her head. The coachling squeaked unhappily at the transfer, squirming and latching to his chestplates with the startlingly strong magnets in her hands. “I’ve got my own to worry about. But somebody’s got to watch her and feed her til the other trains get back for the night, and I ain’t doin’ nothing.”

This arrangement seemed to be agreeable to everyone else. After all, Greaseball didn’t have any assigned work to do and was already readily producing the rich oil needed to support a newborn kit. 

As the coachling began to fuss louder, no doubt very hungry after possibly hours without being fed, Greaseball sank down onto a nearby buffer and settled her in his lap. She was quick to turn her head and latch onto one of his teats, suckling eagerly. 

Satisfied that the little one was in good hands, Stamp called together the others of their consist and hitched onto their engine. Soon, they were skating out quickly to take the afternoon run and the gathered rolling stock began to disperse. 

Not that Greaseball noticed the activity around him, his focus had narrowed entirely to the coachling in his lap. He very gently brushed a thumb over her head, forcing her to slow down her insistent nursing. It wouldn’t do for her to get sick, who knew how long it had been since she was last fed. 

“You sure you’re okay taking her?” Poppa came over, looking down at the newcomer to the yards. She was whining, pressing tiny hands to Greaseball’s belly to try and find something cling to and get closer to the teat she had been working at.

“Fine.” Greaseball said roughly, giving in and letting her resume nursing. “I have to get experience, right? And now nobody’ll have to mix feed for her.”

Poppa nodded, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder before heading back to the freight yard. 

Now that the curious lookie-loos had left, CB came over to Greaseball and crouched down to peer at the little coach. “Tiny thing, isn’t she?” The caboose stroked a finger down her side, grinning when the coachling squeaked in response. 

“Yeah. And these four will be even smaller when they arrive.” Greaseball said, giving his belly a poke. It was hard to believe that something could be even smaller than the coach in his arms, but she was already at least a few months old. Assuming she’d been fed well before ending up here, she’d have grown quite a bit since being born. 

“I could have one of these.” CB said slowly, still getting used to the whole idea. There was a good chance at least one of his offspring would be a coach. Maybe both. He continued to pet the coachling with one hand, the other pressing against his still mostly flat abdomen. “I hope I do. I hope both are coaches.” 

“What? Why? Got something against freight?” Greaseball was a little surprised to hear that. There was a common stereotype that coaches were sweeter and easier to raise, but he didn’t expect a caboose of all rolling stock to subscribe to it.

“Cause cabooses are being retired. If I have a caboose, who knows if they’d have work.” CB was well aware that his type of rolling stock was quickly becoming obsolete. There were still a few that worked on the AL&W, mostly modern steel bay-window cabooses that weren’t entirely fond of CB and his old, wood plating, but he didn’t know how long Control would keep using them.

“Yeah, well my class is retired too. I still work.” At least, Greaseball sincerely hoped he had work once he had his kits. “Hell, Control still keeps the steamers around too. And we all know McCoy should’ve been retired years ago.”

That was very true. Still, CB was quiet as he watched the new coachling finish feeding and yawn widely. Now that her hunger was satiated, she was quick to fall asleep nuzzled against Greaseball’s very warm belly. The diesel gently lifted her to his chestplates instead, where she could sit atop the curve of his abdomen and it was easier to keep a good hold on her. His engine rumbled, purring a soothing note to help the coachling rest, and he was a little surprised to feel a tiny purr in response. Some coaches were equipped with generator motors, for lights, or heat, or to run equipment, but he didn’t think such things were evident so early. 

“Who knew you were so good with kits.” CB said at length, settling down next to the diesel. As a caboose who spent his whole life working hard on freight trains, frequently causing wrecks and skipping town before he could be caught, he had never actually been so close to such a young car. 

“Probably some instinctual pregnancy bullshit.” Greaseball muttered. A warm, calm feeling filled him, making him want nothing more than to just sit there and cradle the infant all day. He growled when CB scooted closer, though he quickly tamped down the sudden surge of protective emotions. The caboose might be an untrustworthy cheat when it came to racing, but he wasn’t about to hurt a baby coach. 

The two remained there for the remainder of the afternoon, until the first passenger train returned to the yards. At some point Electra found them, quite surprised to see his pregnant mate with a coachling in his arms. She had woken back up by then, fussing a little until Greaseball put her back in his lap so she could nurse. 

It was difficult to part with her, even though she was not his, but when she finished her little feeding session Greaseball plopped her in Electra’s arms. No time like the present to see how the electric did with kits. 

Electra was a little startled, but quickly settled her securely against his chestbox. The little coach was fascinated by the lights of his scrollbox, mouthing the glass over the LEDs and tapping the flashing red patterns. Greaseball found himself smiling stupidly at the sight of his mate with an infant, easily able to picture him cradling one of their young instead. Maybe Electra wasn’t such a stuck-up ass after all. You just had to give him a kit. 

CB nudged Greaseball with a laugh, raising an eyebrow at the dopey expression on the diesel’s face. Greaseball was quick to school his expression back into a neutral frown, though it didn’t last when he turned back to watch Electra. 

“And what are you doing here?” Electra addressed CB. The electric and his components were some of the few that knew about the cabooses’ actual past, or at least a small bit of it, and Electra still didn’t trust CB at all. 

“Charging.” CB had plugged himself back into Greaseball once it became clear they’d be there a while. No reason to let a convenient electrical generator go to waste. The caboose then leaned back a little to show off the unprotected surface of his middle. “And preparing for my own.”

“You?” Electra’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Today was just full of surprises. 

The next came when Rusty pulled into the yard a few minutes later with the local passenger train, which quickly broke apart almost before the steamer came to a stop. Greaseball suddenly found himself surrounded by coaches, and Electra was quick to hand the infant back to his mate before he could be mobbed. 

“Oh, look at her.” Pearl cooed, and Greaseball had to refrain from baring his teeth when the observation car reached down to pet the coachling. 

“She’s adorable.” Buffy sighed, turning to Ashley with pleading eyes. “I want her. Ash, let’s adopt her.”

Everyone turned to the buffet car, including Ashley, not expecting such an offer to come from the usually rather irresponsible coach. 

“You sure, Buffy?” Ashley wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea. The kit was extremely cute, and it was unlikely either of them would get enough time off to have one of their own any time soon. 

Buffy reached down, and a reluctant Greaseball allowed the coachling to be lifted from his arms. She wasn’t his, and if Ashley and Buffy wanted to raise her. Well, at least the couple had a steady relationship. Still, Greaseball’s engine whined a little at the loss. 

“Oh, you big softy.” Buffy laughed at the plaintive sound from the diesel, wagging a finger in the coachling’s face to make her giggle and try to grasp the moving appendage. “Don’t worry, Greasy, you can watch her while we’re at work. How’s that?”

Greaseball wanted to protest that he wasn’t a babysitter, but couldn’t get the words out. He actually liked the idea very much. 

Dinah sighed as she watched Buffy and Ashley play with their new infant. They weren’t the most mature coaches in the yard, but she had no doubt the two would do well. “I want one.” She said softly, draping herself over CB’s shoulders. 

The caboose laughed, turning his head to look at his girlfriend. “Well, guess what?” 

Dinah looked confused for a moment, before she realized just what her boyfriend was missing. Namely, his abdominal plating. Which meant. . . “What, really? CB, you’re not playing a prank on me?”

“Never.” CB laughed, taking her hand and bringing it down to rest with his on his middle. “Had the repair truck look at it. Twins!”

“Oh my Starlight. CB!” Dinah squealed with joy, though she immediately became serious again when a thought occurred to her. “They are mine, right?”

“My dear, none but your spike has graced my valve since we got together.” CB confirmed, giving a loud “oof” when Dinah threw her arms around him and squeezed him tight. “Ow, darling. Darling, crushing me.”

Dinah loosened her grip apologetically, but did not let go. When she had found out Greaseball was pregnant, her excitement for the new kits was tempered by the knowledge that they were not hers and her still-hurt emotions over being dumped at the races. Now, though, she could be just as happy as she wanted to be because she was gonna get babies of her very own!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring a guest appearance by my Starlight Express OC: Stamp. More about them here: http://tinyurl.com/gw8o8vc


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: baby rolling stock are basically kittens. (hence the nickname "kits") Literally just big, metal kittens.

Of course, no matter how eager Buffy and Ashley were to adopt their own little coach, the decision was ultimately up to Control. Fortunately for the two coaches, their owner gave them his blessing. He had attempted to contact the train that had gone through the night before, only to find that the company didn’t seem particularly interested in getting their property back. That settled the issue right there. 

Unfortunately for Buffy and Ashley, this didn’t mean they were getting extra time off. Passenger equipment was spread a little thin on the railway at the moment, and every coach was needed on the daily runs. Some rearranging had been done, placing Buffy on a run that finished in the early afternoon so that she could get home earlier, but they still needed someone to watch their new addition during the day. Fortunately, they had a willing babysitter with nothing to do all day. 

Well, okay, maybe calling Greaseball “willing” was a bit of a stretch, but he certainly wasn’t complaining when Ashley came by the next morning and set down a tiny coachling in his nest. 

Greaseball frowned in confusion as he tiredly opened his eyes and peered at the little creature that had been plopped down in front of his face. The nest was otherwise empty, Electra having already left for the day, though no doubt at least one of the components was loitering around to “keep an eye on him” for their master. After a moment, he remembered the events of the day before and the promise that he’d be first choice when a babysitter was needed. 

“Very cushy place you have here,” Ashley complimented, looking at the nest as she gave her coachling a tickle. The kit squealed in response, waving stubby little arms. “Anyway, I have to go do the morning intercity run. You’ll look after Parcel, right?”

“Parcel?” Greaseball managed to push himself to his elbows, still half-asleep and rather perplexed by the whole situation. 

“That’s what we’re calling her.” Ashley clarified. “And she’s the most important package Stamp has ever delivered.”

Greaseball groaned at the pun, but lay back agreeably. “Yeah, I’ll look after her. When’ll you be back?”

“Buffy’ll come pick her up after the afternoon commuter run. She’s had her aux fuelling system turned on so she can feed our lil’ bit.” Ashley said proudly. “Til then, you can take care of it?”

“Yeah, yeah. I can take care of it.” As Ashley skated out, Greaseball had the sudden realization that he’d ended up a nurse engine after all. He didn’t mind the thought so much, as it turned out. Not when little Parcel crawled closer and curled up against his chestplates with the tiniest purring sound. His own engines rumbled in response, and after checking to make sure Parcel was comfortable he fell back asleep. 

 

When Greaseball next awoke, it was from the gentle tug of suckling at one of his teats. Opening his eyes, the diesel looked down to watch Parcel busily feeding. She was less desperate than the day before, presumably had been well fed since then and was no longer starving. 

Deciding she was done for now, Parcel began trying to climb up his belly to find a higher perch. Unfortunately for the coachling, baby rolling stock depending on small but powerful magnets in their hands and knees to cling to their caretakers. The surface of Greaseball’s belly was a soft rubber, and not nearly magnetic enough for her to get a good stick. 

After several failed attempts, Parcel’s unhappy squeaks got louder and more insistent. Finally, Greaseball gave in and scooped her up to deposit her atop his belly. The coachling mewed in pleasure and curled up once more, ready to settle down into another nap with a full tank. Her attempt at sleep was foiled, however, when one of the unborn kits in Greaseball’s gestation chamber decided to give a kick right under her. 

With an incredibly offended chirp, Parcel stared down at the warm surface she was lying on that had suddenly started moving. She slapped one tiny hand against the diesel’s belly, and was rewarded with another kick. Soon, Parcel realized there was a game to be had. The coachling drummed her hands against the springy rubber of his belly, squealing in delight when the kits inside moved in response. Greaseball couldn’t help but laugh at her antics, the vibration making his belly jiggle and bringing an angry squeak from his guest.

Greaseball had been worried that he would be unfathomably bored while stuck in his shed, but watching a curious kit explore turned out to be the perfect entertainment. Parcel had seemingly boundless energy, right until she suddenly dropped into a nap. And when she slept, so did he. Napping in the middle of the day seemed decadent, but it really did seem to be helping the energy drain that came with being almost eight months pregnant. 

Of course, the other thing that really helped was having Components eager to fetch his fuel for him and feed him without ever having to get up. Around midday, Purse came by with a can of diesel and a small stack of crackers for him. The armored car knelt down beside the nest and had to fight very hard not to smile when he saw Greaseball with Parcel sprawled across his face.

Clearing his throat to announce his presence, Purse reached forward and very gently lifted the sleeping coachling off the diesel’s face. “And who is this little bitlet?”

Greaseball stirred, feeling a momentary panic at seeing Parcel being held in the arms of someone else. He calmed down quickly, though, once he registered it was only Purse. One of the components, a part of his. . . his mate. 

“That’s Parcel. They found her next to the track yesterday after the storm.” Greaseball pushed himself to a sitting position, reaching forward and cracking open the can of diesel. “I’m watchin’ her for Buffy and Ashley.”

“Well she is very cute.” Purse complimented, setting her down in the blankets of the nest. Parcel gave herself a little shake and crawled back over to Greaseball, deciding it was an ideal time to take her own lunch. “And how are your own little ones doing?”

“They’re fine.” The diesel couldn’t help a smile as he brushed a hand over the surface of his belly, feeling the kits inside shift their position. Wrench said that they’d be moving more as they shifted around and pressed lower to get ready for birth. They were large enough now, movements forceful enough, to keep him up at night when they got active. Electra hadn’t seemed to notice yet, but the electric engine slept like a brick. “Still growing, getting ready to be here.”

“Hopefully not for a little while yet.” Purse leaned over to pet his belly as well, bending down to give the distended bulge a kiss. The armored money car had hoped to get some alone time with the diesel, but that clearly wasn’t happening this afternoon. Not that he was really complaining, because little Parcel was incredibly adorable. 

‘Sooner the better’ Greaseball wanted to say, though he knew that longer they managed to stay inside the healthier they would be. Still, he was tired of being fat and useless. And more than that, having Parcel there was just making him more eager to have his kits there, in his arms. To see them curiously exploring the nest and playing with each other. Parcel was cute, but she wasn’t his. She would have to go back with Buffy and Ashley at the end of the day. 

So instead, Greaseball just nodded. “Yeah, they’ve still got some weeks to go.” 

“Good. A few more weeks to enjoy this.” Purse’s touches turned a little more teasing, fingers finding parts of the diesel that he knew were sensitive. 

Greaseball’s engines rumbled in response, though the insistent tug of Parcel suckling at one of his teats reminded him why he couldn’t go any further than this right now. “Mm, not right now. Got a bit of an audience, remember?”

“Yes, of course.” Purse stopped teasing, moving instead to give Parcel a friendly little scratch on the head. The coachling chirred and pushed into the touch, greatly enjoying the scritches. “Later, perhaps? After the little one is gone?”

“Hmm, maybe.” There was a good chance he’d be up for sex then, but with the sometimes random mood swings his body went through who the hell knew. Greaseball finished off the can of diesel and crushed it, a bit dismayed to discover that he was still hungry. He had already eaten all of the crackers as well. “Til then, I’m still low and need more fuel.”

“Right away.” Purse stood and gave an elegant bow before skating out. An engine could really get used to this kind of service. 

 

After a truly lazy day watching Parcel, it was a little sad when Buffy came by to pick her up. The buffet car let herself into the shed, helpfully left unlocked by Purse earlier that day so the Components could come and go easily, and carefully made her way through Greaseball’s stall. It was cleaner than she had expected, likely the result of having all those electrics hanging around looking after him. 

Making her way to the back of the stall, Buffy was surprised to see the expansive berth completely empty and vacant. Then she spotted Greaseball curled up in a very large, comfortable-looking nest pushed into the corner, snoring loudly. And there, tucked into the crook of his arm, was Parcel fast asleep. 

The buffet car hated to disrupt such an adorable scene, but Parcel couldn’t stay all night. So Buffy knelt down next to the nest and gave Greaseball’s shoulder a shake. She was smart enough, at least, to not just pluck Parcel from the sleeping diesel’s arms. “Hey, Greasy. Up and at ‘em. I need my kit back.” 

Greaseball automatically tucked Parcel closer to his body, shielding the coachling from view as he slowly awoke. She squeaked softly from deep within his arms, confused but not entirely displeased to have found herself in a warm, safe place up against the loud rumble of a diesel engine. 

Finally, Greaseball opened his eyes and peered at the coach kneeling next to him. “Buffy? That time already?”

“Yep.” Buffy reached forward, carefully pulling aside the diesel’s arms to get at the kit curled against his chest. Parcel didn’t seem particularly happy to be uncovered, though she didn’t complain too loudly when Buffy gathered her against her chest box. “And was she a good girl today?”

“She was great.” Greaseball tried very hard to keep his engine from whining as the coachling was taken from him. He’d have his own soon enough, no need to steal somebody else’s. “Crawled around, explored. Fed regularly. No trouble.”

“Did you hear that, Parcel? You weren’t any trouble.” Buffy tickled the coachling, grinning at the peals of laughter that resulted. “Well, I have to get back to the shed, Ash’ll be back soon. Can we drop her off same time tomorrow?”

“Sounds good.” Greaseball responded with a shrug. He was trying to look like he didn’t care, though he knew Buffy wasn’t buying it. 

“Thanks, Greaseball.” Buffy gave him a wink as she stood and skated out of the shed. “See you tomorrow!”

Now alone, the diesel sighed and shifted in his nest. What was he supposed to do for the rest of the evening now? He’d already slept a good part of the day, so that wasn’t really an option. At the same time, the thought of hefting his bulk up and out of the nest wasn’t very appealing. 

Greaseball was just considering trying to hail Purse on the radio for a little of the fun the money truck had offered earlier when he was startled by someone entering the shed. 

“Is she gone?” Joule poked her head around the partition that separated the berth area from the rest of the stall, looking around for . . . something. 

“Is who gone?” Greaseball watched the dynamite truck warily. He’d never been alone with Joule, she was always accompanied by at least one other component, so he had no idea what she was planning. 

“That little coachling. Purse said she was cute.” Joule fell to her knees at the edge of the nest, but appeared satisfied that Greaseball wasn’t hiding a wayward kit behind him. “But if she’s gone, then we can have some fun.”

“Yeah?” That didn’t sound too bad at all. Greaseball shifted onto his back spreading his legs a little in invitation. “What about Purse?”

“What about him?” Joule said dismissively, crawling closer to rub a hand against his codpiece. “I’m here, not him, it’s his own fault for missing out. Besides, it’s not like there isn’t plenty of you to go around.” She licked at his belly, touches surprisingly light in contrast to her rambunctious personality. 

Greaseball didn’t particularly care who fucked him, though he was surprised when Joule started teasing and caressing the cover of his spike instead of going for his valve. “Not sure that’s gonna work.”

“I think I can make it happen.” Joule said confidently. “Besides, don’t feel like breaking out the strap-on just yet.”

That was right. The dynamite truck didn’t have a spike, for whatever odd reason. Greaseball was beginning to reconsider his choice of sexual partners for the evening when his spike decided to respond to Joule’s ministrations. The heat built in his groin a little slower than usual, but sure enough the diesel felt the familiar push of his spike pressurizing. It seemed like forever since he’d last been able to use it, though in reality it had only been a couple months. 

“See?” Joule grinned, bending down to lick the tip of his spike. Greaseball groaned as she sucked a little, taking just a bit of his spike into her mouth before drawing back. Joule continued to tease, making the diesel under her shudder from the combined sensation of her saliva running down his spike and her stiff hair brushing against the underside of his belly. 

Greaseball reached down and managed to grab a handful of her hair, hoping to encourage her to stop neglecting the rest of his spike. “No. Teasing.”

“Watch the hair there, big boy.” Joule ran her fingers along the diesel’s spike, feeling the knobs and ridges in the hard metal, “Takes a long time for me to get it this good.”

“Don’t. Call me that.” Greaseball growled. 

“Well, then maybe I’ll just call you big momma instead.” Joule grinned, plucking his hand from her mohawk so that she could raise herself up over his spike. Her valve cover was already open and dripping in anticipation as the dynamite truck felt the broad head of Greaseball’s spike stretching her entrance. “Ooo, and that’s just the way I like ‘em. Nice and big!”

Whatever Greaseball was going to say in response (Joule most certainly would –not- be calling him ‘big momma’) was lost in the warm, wet heat that suddenly enveloped his spike. He instinctively tried to buck his hips, though the heavy weight of his pregnant belly prevented him being able to move how he really wanted to. “Oh, fuuuuuuck.” Later, he would have to ask Wrench why his spike was so eager to stand at attention now when it had barely twitched at such activity a month ago. Now, though, there was barely room to think through the heat gathering low in his belly. 

“Yeah? Is that what you really want?” Joule was quite enjoying the position she had found herself in. Greaseball’s spike was nice and girthy, stretching her valve out just right, and her front was pressed against the curve of the diesel’s middle. She rocked her hips a bit, sliding a little along his length and enjoying the moan that resulted. Greaseball’s cooling fans kicked in, their whirr barely audible under the roar of his engine as they tried to cool his quickly heating systems. 

Of course, Joule couldn’t concentrate just on his spike. Not with the tempting roundness of his belly so close at hand. Her hands pressed into his sides, kneading and rubbing the firm bulge of his middle. Greaseball’s own, much larger hands found their way to her waist, pulling Joule down a little further onto him. He tried to arch his back, to get closer to the touch, and hissed when his backstrut gave a painful twinge. Moving around all the extra tonnage he was carrying was getting harder and harder. 

“Awww, does your back hurt?” Joule cooed, one hand slipped around to press into his lower back. “We shall have to tell the master to take better care of you.” 

Joule continued to rock her body against him, all too willing to do all the work since her partner could not. Greaseball’s hands drifted up, tracing his thumbs over the steel supports of her chest, and Joule moaned in pleasure. Those were very sensitive. 

Though Greaseball normally prided himself on being able to last all night, it seemed his neglected spike had other ideas. Joule’s valve was like the rest of her, small and slight but very flexible, and it was turning out to be more than he could handle with all the pregnancy bullshit fucking with his hormones and sex drive. As the dynamite truck came back down onto his spike, taking his full length inside her, the diesel’s pleasure peaked and he overloaded suddenly. 

A little startled at the yell Greaseball gave as he emptied himself into her, Joule was rather disappointed to feel the spike in her valve begin to lose pressure. She had hoped to go a little longer than that, but it seemed she would have to mix things up and try a different strategy. 

Raising herself up and off his spike, Joule crawled forward to the head of the nest. Greaseball turned to look at her, eyes a little glazed as he panted to try and cool his systems, frowning when she laid a hand on his cheek. “Now that isn’t fair. You’ve overloaded, but I haven’t yet. We should do something about that.”

As Greaseball tried to come up with a response, brain working much slower than normal through the pleasurable haze of post-overload, Joule threw a leg over his chest and knelt down until her valve was right in his face. His own cum still dripped from her folds, silvery and thick. Oh, okay. He could handle that. 

Greaseball grasped her hips firmly and raised his head so that he could lick at the rim of her valve. The taste of cum was heavy and metallic, to contrast the sweeter note of the dynamite truck’s own lubricant. Not bad, a nice post-overload meal. Plus, he could never leave a partner unsatisfied. 

“Oooh, Greaseball.” Joule’s hand buried itself in his thick, black hair, pushing him even more firmly to her valve. “I knew you could give a good blowjob, but you might even give Wrench a run for her money at this.”

Greaseball chuckled, the sound travelling up through her valve to her backstrut and sending an electric thrill through the rest of her body. The diesel had felt Wrench’s talent first hand, and knew that was quite a compliment.

Sending his tongue deeper, Greaseball’s hands drifted down from her waist to her thighs. His thumbs pressed into softer metal around her valve, the fingers digging into his scalp letting him know he was doing something right. Joule was turning out to be very loud during sex, a steady stream of encouragement and babble falling from her lips as she eagerly humped his face. Now her own overload was building, a steady pressure in her pelvic girdle telling her that she wouldn’t last too much longer. Greaseball seemed to sense this, tucking his chin to delve ever deeper, and Joule came with a shout. Since she did not have a spike there was a gush of fluid from her valve instead, and the diesel drank it down eagerly until Joule was spent. 

“Oh, you are good.” Joule complimented, releasing his hair and placing both hands on either side of his head instead. She didn’t think her legs were steady enough to move just yet, though it wouldn’t be long before she was ready to go again. 

Unfortunately for Joule, she didn’t have the luxury of keeping Greaseball to herself all night. Purse had taken a raincheck earlier, but was now back to collect. The money truck had heard Joule’s scream of pleasure through the door of the shed and now skated to the back angrily. “Joule! I was supposed to have him tonight!”

Joule turned and stuck her tongue out petulantly, rising to her wheels and stepping out of the nest to confront the other component. “I was here and you weren’t. If you want the master’s mate to yourself, then you should be faster.”

“You had no right!” Purse stomped his foot, angry that his chance for some fun had been taken from him once again. 

“Hold it!” Greaseball interrupted the argument before it could really get going. Pushing himself to his elbows, he frowned at the two components. “I ain’t no prize to fight over. You want sex, just ask.”

Purse and Joule stared at each other for a moment longer before Joule gave in. With a cheeky little grin, she rolled her eyes and skated out. “Fine, I’ll go find Wrench. Have fun. Bye, Greaseball!”

“So.” Purse turned to Greaseball once Joule was gone, delicately stepping into the nest and settling himself down on his knees. “Am I still welcome?”

“I think I can make room.” Eating out Joule had given Greaseball time to recover from his first overload, he probably had at least one more in him tonight. Not from his spike, though, that particular part was telling him it was quite spent. 

“Over me?” Purse lay down on his back, stretching his arms above his head in clear invitation. His spike pressurized in the same move, slim and sleek just like the rest of him, standing proud over his black outer armor. 

Greaseball hesitated even as he managed to lever himself upright. “You sure? I ain’t lightweight. I don’t want to be responsible for crushing you.”

Purse shuddered just at the thought. He’d love nothing better. “I’m armored, I will be fine.”

“If you’re sure.” Having already overloaded once, Greaseball’s valve was nice and slick already. One hand helped support his belly as he moved to straddle Purse’s hips, the other guiding the money truck’s spike to his valve. Despite Purse’s reassurances that he wouldn’t be damaged by the diesel’s weight, Greaseball was still careful as he lowered himself down. Eyes watched the component’s face for any sign of discomfort as the bulk of his belly settled on his partner’s torso, still supporting himself primarily on his knees. 

“It’s okay.” Purse bit out, breaths growing more shallow as he took more of the diesel’s weight. “I can take it. You can relax.” His hands raised to cup Greaseball’s ass. The engine’s hips had grown wider to better carry the heavy load of the kits, meaning his ass was noticeably larger as well. A very tempting prize to all of the amorous components, who had a very hard time keeping their hands off of it. Purse dug his fingers in, brushing his thumbs over the raised white stripes that decorated the black metal, encouraging Greaseball to stop being so cautious. 

The diesel was quick to comply, leaning forward as best he could and bracing his hands on Purse’s shoulderboxes. He couldn’t manage an up and down rhythm, was too heavy to get his torso and belly bouncing like that, but with Purse taking a good portion of his weight he could roll his lower body well enough. 

“Oh, yes!” Purse said in encouragement, voice breathy and faint. He couldn’t take full breaths anymore, intakes failing to draw in enough air to cool his systems. It was an intoxicating sort of high, compounded by the tight valve enveloping his spike. Normally, it took some convincing to get the other components to put hands on his throat to compress his main airway to achieve this kind of feeling. Having a round, pregnant belly heavy with young pressed into his own torso was so much better though. 

“You sure you’re alright?” Greaseball couldn’t help but be concerned. Purse’s normally chalk-white face was flushed pink, taking quick, shallow pants through his parted lips. The money truck didn’t have an engine that could overheat, being unable to breathe wouldn’t cause him any long-lasting damage, but an unconscious sexual partner didn’t make for much fun in berth. At least it didn’t seem like Purse’s steel plating was bowing under his weight, the component had been right about being able to take the pressure. 

“Better than alright.” Purse managed, arching his back and pressing his head into the padding of the nest. His body felt light and airy, like he was floating despite the multi-ton diesel sitting on him, and his world narrowed to the strong calipers clenching around his spike. He was melting, a fire burning under his plating, and at the same time ice cold. Balancing on the knife's edge between overload and blackout.

Well, if he was sure. Greaseball quickened his pace, bottoming out on each roll of his hips to take as much of Purse’s spike into him as possible. The money truck wasn’t the only one after an overload that night, after all. 

It was Purse who came first, overload crashing so hard on his over-heated systems that his eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp. Greaseball followed moments later, systems milking as much fluid from the money truck’s spike as possible before it de-pressurized and retracted. 

As soon as he could think straight again, Greaseball managed to roll off Purse to lay next to the component in the nest. Though Purse was solidly unconscious, he still gasped loudly as more than one hundred tons of steel was lifted off his body. After a moment, the money truck's breathing evened out and his systems began to cool down. No lasting damage, though he was likely to be out for a while. 

Nearly to the point of passing out himself, two overloads a lot for his burdened body, Greaseball was still conscious enough to hear someone else entering the shed. 

“Well then, my components didn’t leave much for me.” Electra’s voice reached his ears as the electric engine carefully shifted the limp form of Purse to one side of the nest so that he could cuddle up to his mate. “You better not have injured my money truck.”

“He asked for it.” Greaseball managed, voice raspy from the shouting he had done earlier in the night. 

“I’m sure he did. Purse is an odd one.” Electra said fondly. “All my components are, in their way.”

“Take after their master.” Greaseball muttered. That got him a light smack to the shoulder as Electra curled up against his back, arms coming around his torso to rub gently at his belly. 

The other components drifted in, taking spots around the nest and wrapping around each other until the nest was a pile of bodies and limbs. But by then Greaseball was deep asleep, too warm and satisfied and loved to stay awake any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having fun trying to give each of the component distinct kinks and sexual preferences. Still working on how I write sex scenes, hopefully they're improving.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody asked for some more Greaseball/Electra moments. Hope this satisfies for now, more coming up.

The next morning, Greaseball awoke to a familiar pressure in his groin. He hadn’t felt it in several months, but the sensation of a hard, swollen spike pressing against the underside of his belly was unmistakable. 

With a groan, Greaseball shifted and reached down to take care of his almost-uncomfortably erect spike. Before he could get a hand around it, though, someone else beat him to it. 

Greaseball opened his eyes and stared down to see who had gotten a hold of him. A distinctive crane headpiece gave the culprit away as Wrench, her delicate fingers stroking his spike in a very maddening way. 

“Good morning.” The repair truck greeted, a little smile playing at her lips as she went back to studying the diesel’s spike. “Joule told me that your spike is functional again. Very unusual this far along in a pregnancy.”

“Yeah, well. I guess you can’t keep me down.” Greaseball attempted to joke, though he was unable to hold in a moan and a shudder as Wrench’s fingers played with the bumps and ridges of his spike. 

“Very interesting.” Wrench paused for a moment to apply a little lubricant to her hands, then returned to stroking his spike. The oil was warm and slick, reducing the friction of her palm rubbing against him. Greaseball’s hands clenched, digging into the blankets of the nest as his hips jerked. This was a very nice way to wake up in the morning. 

And then, it got even nicer. Volta came back to the nest, completely unphased by the sight of Wrench jerking Greaseball off, and knelt next to the diesel’s head. “Oh good, you’re awake. I have new treats for you to try.”

Greaseball was too distracted by the hand pumping his spike to come up with a retort, so he just obediently turned his head and opened his mouth so that Volta could insert a candy. Biting into it, sweet oil with a hint of diesel splashed across his tongue. 

“Well then, I think we know why your spike is working again.” Wrench said with an amused smile as she watched Volta continue to feed Greaseball. “You’ve been overeating.”

“Now, Wrench. How can I resist when he is so eager?” Volta wasn’t contrite at all; pushing another treat through the diesel’s parted lips. Greaseball was attempting to say something, but between the candy in his mouth and the hand still pumping his spike he couldn’t come up with anything. 

“I am not saying it’s a bad thing.” Wrench kept going, greatly enjoying having a relatively casual conversation over the head of a panting, whining diesel. “The kits are now a healthy weight, his system is making oil for them already, and now his spike is active again. All to try and shed the excess fuel you keep feeding him.”

“Well I’ll just have to keep going, won’t I?” 

“Oh come on!” Greaseball couldn’t take it anymore. The talking, the candy, the hand playing with his spike. He needed release. 

“Oh dear, is someone getting testy?” Volta laughed as Greaseball gave her a heated glare. “Wrench, perhaps you should get to the point.”

“Well, I suppose.” Wrench sped up the pace of her hand a bit, Volta helping things along by shifting her focus to Greaseball’s belly for rubs. It was always best just after she’d fed him, when his full tanks made his gestation chamber distend even further and heightened his sensitivity. It didn’t take more than a few minutes before Greaseball overloaded, thick silver ropes of cum splattering over the underside of his belly. 

“Now you’ve made a mess.” Wrench admonished, looking the limp diesel over. He made a vague grumble in response, too tired to move. At least they had avoided getting anything on the blankets of the nest, but Greaseball couldn’t just sit with cum smeared all over him all day. She would have to do something about it. 

Removing her headpiece, Wrench bent down and gave the underside of his belly a long lick. Greaseball shuddered under her, the stimulation almost too much. Her tongue against his ‘skin’ was encouraging his fuelling system to produce, thinking there was a kit needing to be fed. Pressure built in his already tight, heavy middle until a bit of oil leaked from his teats. 

Wrench was right there, lapping up the dripping oil with a little hum from her engine. Volta was still rubbing him, pressing her knuckles right below his chest where the swell of his belly began. Right where the strain of the kits’ increasing weight was the greatest. Greaseball groaned deeply, turning his face into the blankets of his nest to try and muffle the sound. Pregnancy had turned him into the laziest, most sensitive piece of shit. It was embarrassing. 

“Oh, don’t do that.” Volta gently lifted his head, rubbing a thumb over his cheek. “I want to hear you enjoy what we’re doing. Your noises are so sweet.”

“Sweet?” Greaseball managed to growl. That wasn’t a word normally applied to him. He couldn’t actually manage anger, though, when Wrench was still licking and sucking at his belly. 

“Yes, sweet.” Volta kissed him soft and slow, laughing a little into his mouth when she felt one of the kits move under the hand still rubbing his middle. They were getting so big, and all of the components were so excited to feel them shifting and kicking inside their master’s mate. The kits would never lack for loving caretakers when they were born. 

The three were sufficiently distracted that they didn’t notice a newcomer to the shed until a voice joined the conversation. 

“I haven’t come at a bad time, have I?” 

Greaseball pulled away from Volta’s lips and sighed when he saw Ashley standing next to his nest with Parcel in her arms. Of course, it was a weekday and therefor time for him to watch the coachling for the day. This was not exactly what he wanted someone wanted to walk in on. 

“Of course not.” Wrench sat up and pulled a rag out of her storage space, swiping it over Greaseball’s belly to clean up the last little traces of cum and saliva. “Just cleaning up a little bit.”

“Just a bit of morning fun.” Volta stood and gave Ashley a little wink, reaching over to scritch Parcel on the head. The coachling whined and squirmed, forcing Ashley to readjust her grip. 

“Sorry, Buffy left early and she’s probably hungry.” Ashley looked over Greaseball’s sprawled form with amusement. A little morning fun indeed. Well, everyone did say pregnancy made sex better. Maybe she should try it sometime. 

“Fortunately, there is a ready supply of oil right here.” Wrench got to her wheels and held out her arms for Parcel. Ashley passed over the coachling after a moment’s hesitation, letting the repair truck give Parcel a quick scan. “She is very healthy. You are doing well with her.” Wrench complimented before setting the little coach down into the nest. She immediately crawled over to Greaseball and latched onto one of the diesel’s teats. 

“Uh, thanks?” Ashley wasn’t entirely sure how to take that, but at least Parcel was okay. She and Buffy loved their new daughter so much, even though neither had any experience with kits, it was good to know they were doing alright. Looking down, she smiled genuinely at the sight of Parcel happily feeding. It was too bad she had to leave for the day and couldn’t stay. 

Once Ashley had left, Greaseball pushed himself to his elbows and gave Wrench a hard look. “I ain’t just some feeding station.” He curled a hand around Parcel even as he spoke. Though he enjoyed having Parcel there, he still didn’t appreciate being treated like some. . . oil dispenser. 

“I. Didn’t mean to imply you were.” Wrench seemed honestly confused at the sudden mood change, and exchanged a glance with Volta. The freezer car shrugged. “Are you uncomfortable feeding another’s kit? You are making plenty of oil.”

“I don’ mind feeding her. But I’m no nurse engine.” Greaseball tried hard not to growl, didn’t want to frighten the little one cuddled against him, but it was hard. He couldn’t even articulate why such a minor thing pissed him off so much, but it did. 

Wrench was at a loss. She didn’t deal with emotional trouble. That was a job best left for other components. Volta, in this case. Retrieving her headpiece, Wrench settled for giving Greaseball a pat on the shoulder before skating out of the shed. 

Volta sighed and looked down at Greaseball in the nest. Despite his best efforts to keep calm, Parcel had begun to whine at the upset rumble of the big diesel’s engines. Greaseball had immediately curled up a bit around the coachling, trying to soothe her, but it was clear that he still wasn’t happy with something. 

“Why does this bother you so much?” Volta asked softly, sinking back down into the nest. A protective growl from Greaseball had her scooting back a little bit, making sure to stay out of the moody diesel’s space. “The changes your body is going through to support the little ones are nothing to be ashamed of. Your belly is beautiful.”

Greaseball snorted. A lot of words had been applied to him over the years, but beautiful was not one of them. Especially when he was fat and out of work. Besides that, the freezer car was missing the point. “Yeah, and you all are treating me like a toy to be fought over. Or just some convenient thing for feeding kits.”

Volta pursed her lips, cursing Wrench for leaving her with this. She also opened an internal thread to her master, sending this information to him. Though the components were all incredibly attracted to Greaseball, in the end he was their master’s mate. Electra ultimately had the responsibility of caring for the diesel and their unborn offspring. 

“I am sorry.” Volta offered after a moment of silence. “We all assumed you enjoyed being fought over.”

They all assumed- Of course. Because when they first saw him, he was being fawned over by the coaches. And Greaseball had to admit, he did enjoy that. The coaches fighting each other for the chance to rub his arm muscles, dance with him, ultimately be his racing partner. And he knew that Dinah had enjoyed it too, being able to push them all away and take her place at his side. Things were a little different, now that he was pregnant. He wasn’t the World Racing Champion anymore, he wasn’t doing any important work, soon probably wouldn’t be able to do anything except lay there. 

Greaseball sighed deeply, letting his head thump down into the blankets. And then again, just for good measure. The worst thing was that he knew he was getting upset over nothing. Control had already made it perfectly clear that he was going back to his passenger duties after this, that he would not, in fact, be shipped off to a breeding facility to live the rest of his days as a nurse engine, and still he couldn’t seem to help it. Damn pregnancy. 

There was a loud purring right in front of him and Greaseball looked in surprise to see Parcel crawling determinedly towards his face. As soon as the coachling was close enough, she reached out with one little hand and patted him on the cheek. 

Volta stifled a laugh at the sight of the baby coach trying to comfort her much larger caretaker. “See? Even the little one does not want you to be unhappy.”

How could he stay pissed off at that, really? Greaseball ran his hand down Parcel’s back, eliciting a happy chirr. 

Volta remained in the shed the rest of the day, leaving only to fetch some diesel for herself and Greaseball. When diesel and kit slept, she occupied herself with putting together some more treats. Which were greatly appreciated by Greaseball during the times when he was awake. A quick call to Wrench also reassured that it was not too early to see if Parcel would take a little solid food, so Volta made some especially tiny treats to feed the coachling. Though she was cautious of the strange, non-liquid foodstuffs at first, Parcel was quick to learn that they were extremely tasty. 

The two made a valiant attempt to see if they could get the coachling to do little tricks in return for treats, but Parcel was far too smart for that. She’d just steal the treats the second either of them looked away. Buffy and Ashley would probably be very proud when they heard. 

 

Buffy came in later to pick up her daughter, garnering absolutely no sympathy from Greaseball as she groaned about how heavy her chest felt. Her auxiliary fuelling system had been manually activated so that she could feed Parcel, which meant now she had to go all day with breasts swollen under her chest box. Greaseball rolled his eyes at Buffy’s complaints, pressing a hand into his side right at the spot one of the kits had decided to use as a punching bag. 

“Least you aren’t being kicked from the inside.” Greaseball grumbled without any real ire. 

“Well. I guess you have a point.” Buffy conceded, though she still had to hold an arm to her chest box as she bent over to scoop up Parcel with her other hand. “Well, tomorrow is Saturday, so Ashley and I don’t have any more trains until Monday. We’ll drop her off here again then?”

“Alright.” Was it really a weekend already? Greaseball had lost all track of time since he was taken off passenger service. 

As Buffy left, Greaseball noticed that Volta had slipped out during her visit unnoticed. Leaving him alone in the shed. Now what was he going to do with himself?

Greaseball pushed himself into a sitting position, taking a moment to breathe and adjust to being upright. It was ridiculous how difficult moving was becoming. He was debating on how wise it would be to try and stand when he heard the quiet but distinctive sound of someone entering his stall and locking the door behind them. A moment later, Electra entered the berth area and filled the small space with his sheer presence. Greaseball couldn’t help but feel his breath catch at the sight of the electric engine posing impressively beside the berth. 

“Well, don’t you look comfy.” Electra moved slowly, elegantly, as he joined his mate in the nest. “I have something for you.”

“Wha-?” Greaseball responded intelligently. He suddenly couldn’t seem to think past the sight of Electra kneeling next to him, shining and glittering and perfectly polished. Heat pooled in his groin, and suddenly he knew just how he wanted to spend the rest of the night. 

Electra pulled a small pot of oil from behind his back and held it out. It wasn’t lubricant or engine oil, but instead the kind used to keep rubber fittings soft and supple. “Wrench recommended this to me.” The electric explained, “It will help your belly stretch as the kits continue to grow. It thought I could. . . rub it in for you.”

Well then. Greaseball had been hoping for sex, but a belly rub sounded like a wonderful start. He shifted slightly so that Electra could sit behind him, leaning his back against the electric’s chest and stretching his legs out in front of him. Electra poured a little oil onto the upper curve of his mate’s belly, making Greaseball shiver a little. The oil was cold, though really anything was compared to miniature forge inside him, but it began to warm quickly as Electra started to rub it into his ‘skin.’

Greaseball let out an involuntary groan as those talented hands slick with oil massaged small circles on his swollen abdomen. His middle was so sensitive, gestation chamber stretched awkwardly large over the mass of the kits, that each touch sent a little bolt of lightning down his backstrut and straight to his junk. His spike pressurized, pressing against the underside of his belly hard and heavy. Electra hadn’t noticed that yet, though, still lavishing attention on the stretched, taut surface just below his mate’s chest.

Slowly, carefully, Electra’s hands started to make their way lower. The electric was determined to not leave a single, square inch of his mate’s swollen tummy unloved. As Electra rubbed in the oil, periodically pausing to add a little more to his hand4s, he used just enough pressure to have Greaseball moaning under him. The surface of the diesel’s belly was growing softer, gaining just a bit more give before reaching the hard mass of the gestation chamber underneath, with each pass of Electra’s oil-covered fingers. 

“According to Wrench, the very end of the pregnancy is when the most weight is gained.” Electra talked to help fill the silence, voice barely above a whisper because he has his chin resting on the diesel’s shoulder and lips bare inches from his mate’s ear. “You’re going to get so big, so round with my young.. . –our young.” He corrected a second later, after Greaseball’s engine gives an unhappy rumble. “I’ll hardly be able to contain myself. Can barely contain myself now.” Electra admitted, nibbling on the diesel’s ear. 

“I’m. Plenty big now.” Greaseball gasped. He can hardly imagine growing still larger, though from the way Electra is describing it maybe it won’t be so bad. Certainly, the electric’s reverent tone makes it very clear that he loves every inch added to his mate’s waist. 

“Yes you are.” Electra agreed with a little grin, rubbing his thumbs in little circles around the diesel’s hardened teats. The nubs have gotten much larger now that he is regularly nursing a kit, and Electra let his thumbs brush against them just to get a whine out of Greaseball. “Not nearly big enough though. Not as big as you’re going to get. I can’t wait until my arms won’t reach around you anymore, until you can’t leave this nest anymore and I have to stay here all day to take care of you.”

“Oh, Starlight.” Greaseball had been dreading becoming nest-bound, but still somehow every word Electra speaks sends more heat pooling in his groin. Lubricant from his valve had already soaked into the fabric under them, despite the cover still being shut, and his spike had started throbbing in time with his ragged breaths. “You got a real thing for pregnant guys?”

“Not pregnant guys. Just you.” Electra whispered into the diesel’s ear. “You think I’d do this for that- that caboose? No. The first time I saw you at the races, when my components left me to join your side, I was very jealous. Because I wanted to be the one running my hands up these powerful arms.” One oil-slick hand left the diesel’s belly to run a trail up from his wrist to his shoulder, enjoying the strong, thick muscles beneath the steel that have not been softened by pregnancy one bit. “And now you are heavy with young. Young that I put there. That memory file of their conception I replayed every night while I was gone, I did miss you so.”  
Why was this so hot? The words soaked into Greaseball, and he shuddered as Electra’s hands moved to his sides. Fingers dipped into his side-seams, teasing him, before rubbing oil into his middle using long sweeps towards the crest of his belly. Greaseball had always wondered if Electra would’ve returned if he hadn’t gotten pregnant, if maybe the electric was only here for the kits. Apparently now he had his answer.

Electra moved lower, until his hands encountered a truly delicious treat. Greaseball’s spike was rock-hard, and the diesel nearly cried in relief when Electra rubbed his thumb over the broad head of his spike. A bit of pre oozed from the tip, and Electra grinned. It seemed Wrench was right, the oil wasn’t just a good way to keep his mate’s belly supple, but was also a great way to kick off processor-blowing sex. 

Desperate as Greaseball was, when Electra wrapped a hand around his spike the diesel still managed to pull himself from the fog of lust clouding his mind. He’d already gotten one hand-job today, he wanted something different. He wanted. . . Electra. 

“No.” Greaseball grunted, gently removing the electric’s hand from his spike and twisting his body to look his mate in the eye. “You, on the berth.”

“Well then, so demanding.” Electra smirked, but agreeably stood and, with a little more effort, pulled the diesel to his wheels as well. “And what do you want me on the berth for?”

“My spike in your valve.” Normally Greaseball was a little better at berth-talk, but he was so horny he was amazed he could get any words out at all. Fortunately, that was all Electra needed to hear. The electric was quick to seat himself on the edge of the berth and lay back, opening the cover to his valve and placing his arms above his head in invitation. He was already plenty wet, the belly rub session having been just as arousing for him as it was for Greaseball, and was honestly looking forward to getting spiked. 

Greaseball was slightly hampered by the fact that he couldn’t see what he was doing, but his fingers took only moments to locate the slick folds of the eager electric engine. No prep was needed, Greaseball just lined up his spike and gripped Electra’s hips tightly before thrusting forward and spearing the other engine. 

“Oh, yes!” Electra cried out as he was filled, the knobs and ridges of Greaseball’s spike scraping roughly at the sensors inside his valve and sending fire burning through his circuits. The weight of the diesel’s belly was resting on his abdomen, giving him just a taste of the heavy load his mate was carrying. Electra pressurized his spike just to feel it get sandwiched between his own midsection and the bulk of Greaseball’s belly. There was still a little oil left on the underside of his tummy, letting it slide easily over Electra’s front as Greaseball began to thrust. 

“You – hah- like that?” Greaseball gritted his teeth, having to put all his concentration into not cumming right then and there after all the stimulation he’d received that evening. He wanted to enjoy this for as long as he could. Though Greaseball knew he’d spiked the electric before, he’d been so drunk he barely remembered it. This was a moment to be savored. 

“Having you over me?” Electra’s hands couldn’t help but return to the enormous bulge that was so temptingly there in front of him. The weight of –his- kits pressing down on him, still safe inside his mate’s body but growing ever larger. “There is nothing I like better.”

The words were genuine, and Greaseball nearly lost it at the praise. He just barely managed to rein himself in, though it was incredibly difficult when those maddening hands return to his belly. Electra was playing with his teats, and Greaseball can’t even manage to be embarrassed when a bit of oil leaks from them. All of his focus is on keeping up his rhythm, thrusting deeper into the electric’s valve. His belly slid across Electra’s torso, assisted by the lingering oil, providing an extra level of stimulation to the electric’s spike trapped between them. 

When Greaseball overloads, it’s with a roar. He emptied himself into Electra’s valve in shuddering spurts, fingers digging into the electric’s hips to keep him seated firmly onto his spike. Electra followed with his own overload moments later, his own spike shooting cum all over Greaseball’s belly and his own abdomen. 

“ah.” Greaseball sighed and pulled out of his partner, hands slipping from Electra’s hips to press against the berth for support. 

As much as Electra had hoped for another go round, he could tell that the diesel was tired. He couldn’t blame him, with all the weight Greaseball had to carry around every second of the day. The electric carefully wiggled out from under his mate and slid from the berth. Greaseball provided no resistance as he was moved back to the nest, after Electra had plucked out the soiled bedding of course, and carefully laid back down. 

“Such a good diesel.” Electra murmured as he cuddled up to his mate. 

Greaseball managed a mildly irritated grumble. “I ain’t a pet.”

“No, you’re not.” Electra agreed. He remembered the information that Volta had sent him, that Greaseball was apparently insecure about his status in the relationship between all of them. “I would never choose anyone less amazing than myself to be my mate.”

And that was enough to put a gentle smile on Greaseball’s face as he drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration for this chapter, located here: http://tinyurl.com/z73yk9p


	19. Chapter 19

The young diesels are lined up, shoulder to shoulder, standing silent and strong just how they have been taught. Earlier there was much shoving and jostling for position, but now they simply stand stiffly and stare straight ahead. A potential buyer is here, to look them over and decide which ones will receive what adult frames. Most of the young engines have dreams of being passenger engines, though they all knew there is not enough demand and most of them will become freight models or switchers instead. 

Their morning had been devoted to showing off. Races, to test the speed of the young engines. Pulling contests, to test their strength. Each has been proven mechanically sound and ready for upgrading to their adult frames. Each would be suitable to become any of the current engines EMD offers. 

The man in the official suit takes his time looking over the young diesels. This is a big purchase, even for such a large railroad as the Union Pacific. They are dieselizing their fleet, replacing the older steam locomotives, but such a thing must be done carefully. Steam engines are very powerful, and Union Pacific is proud to have some of the strongest steamers in the country. Each of their new diesels meant for mainline service must be able to match the strength and speed of the steamers that came before them. 

“And this diesel is one of our best from the batch. 205-9 is consistently the fastest and one of the most powerful of this group. He would be perfect for our latest passenger model, the E6.”

There is a hum and a nod from the Union Pacific man, and 205-9 allows himself a proud smirk as the humans move on down the line. 

The upgrade to adult frame is painless. Young engines are simply shut off, and awaken in their new frame. They all take a few days to become comfortable using their engine forms, to pulling rolling stock along the rails, before they are sent out for delivery. 

205-9 has indeed been remodeled into an E6, a prestigious A-unit that will lead a pair of booster units and pull the cross-country passenger trains of Union Pacific. He receives his new road number, LA-4, and a new paint job of armor yellow and mist grey. And then, he and five others are delivered to their new owner. 

The yard they arrive at is enormous, the activity almost overwhelming even compared to the extensive locomotive works that bred them. The new diesels huddle closer to each other, watching the barely organized chaos nervously. And then, other engines take notice of them.

An enormous steam engine approaches the group, flanked by a pair of smaller engines. Though they have never seen one before, the hulking frame of a Big Boy is unmistakable. As one of the country’s latest, strongest steam engines, even the newly minted diesels are in awe of the huge freight engines. 

After a glance at the others of his group, LA-4 steps forward and puts out his hand. “Hey. I’m 2- uh, LA-4, new A-unit for the City of Los Angeles train.”

The three steamers chuckle, and the sound is not kind. The Big Boy looks down on the young diesel, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Yeah? Cause you look more like a little greaseball to me.” He laughs at his own little joke, “Maybe that should be your new name, huh? Greaseball?”

The young diesel is confused, smile falling from his face. He had dreamed of getting a proper name, to replace the numbers he was known by, but this was not what he had in mind. An insult, disguised as a name. “Wha-“

“We don’t need your kind here.” The Big Boy looms over the smaller engine, seeming to gain several feet as the fire in his chest burns hotter and steam hisses threateningly. “Scrapping our brethren, stinking up our yards, shoving us out of our jobs. You think you can replace us? I dunno how you do it, your kind is so dumb. I swear I’m getting stupider just looking at you and that fucking expression on your face.”

Greaseball shakes his head, not sure what’s happening. He’d heard tell that steamers and diesels weren’t always friendly towards eachother, but this engine didn’t even know him. Clearly hated him just for being what he was. 

“Look at you, just a breeding bitch heavy with kits.” The Big Boy leans in closer, voice dropping to a whisper, and suddenly Greaseball is on his knees clutching his round, swollen belly. Inside him, his young kick and squirm uncomfortably. The large steamer lifts a foot and rests his wheels against Greaseball’s middle, pressing down hard enough to make the diesel whine in pain. “Popping out more of your filthy kind; worthless, weak engines that no one cares about.”

“Stop.” Greaseball pants, trying to push the steamer’s foot from his belly but unable to budge the heavy steel wheels. The Big Boy presses down harder, putting a little more of his weight behind it, and pain lances through the diesel’s abdomen. 

“What was that?” The Big Boy mocks. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Please.” Greaseball can’t help the tears that fall from his eyes, all his worry reserved for the helpless kits in his womb. “Please, stop!”

 

Electra was sleeping soundly, dreaming pleasant things, when he was woken up by the distressed whine of the diesel engine he was cuddled up against. Confused, Electra pushed himself upright a little bit and looked down at his mate. Greaseball’s face was pulled into a frightened expression, breaths coming in short pants as he appeared to be . . . crying? What could have upset his mate so?

“STOP!” Greaseball suddenly yelled, eyes flying open. He looked around in confusion, obviously not knowing where he was or what was happening. 

Immediately, Electra gathered the diesel into his arms and started running his hands soothingly down his mate’s back. “It’s okay, you’re okay.” He murmured, feeling Greaseball’s engines slowly idle down from their earlier full-power roaring. 

Gradually, Greaseball’s harsh pants evened out and he appeared to be calmed down from whatever had happened. Electra let one hand move from the diesel’s back to his belly, checking to make sure the kits were okay. The gentle movement under his palm indicated that the little ones were alright, but then Electra felt the muscles there tighten and Greaseball let out a pained grunt. 

“What is it?” Electra looked into his mate’s eyes anxiously. “Are you going into early labor?”

“What? No. Just a cramp.” At least, Greaseball was pretty sure he wasn’t going into early labor. He’d just had a fucking nightmare and woke up screaming, like some damn youngling, which was stressing his systems. He’d heard, somewhere, that pregnancy sometimes caused crazy dreams. The thought was little comfort. 

“I don’t think a simple cramp would make you shout so.” Electra reached up and gently wiped away the tear tracks shining on his mate’s cheeks. “Or cause these tears. What happened?”

“Nothing. Just some dumb dream.” Greaseball turned his face away, giving a rough snort and scrubbing at his eyes with the knuckles of one hand. “Sorry I woke you, go back to sleep.”

When Greaseball rolled over and put his back to Electra, the electric engine was tempted to do as he was told and return to sleep. It was, after all, very early in the morning. But it was also very clear that something was wrong was his mate. For an engine that had formerly only cared about himself, Electra was surprising even himself with the surge of affection he felt for the diesel engine. Not just because Greaseball was carrying his young, but because he cared for the older diesel as he was. 

“Now then, it must have been one hell of a dream to have bothered you this much.” Electra wrapped his arms around his mate once more, resting his chin on the other engine’s shoulder. “Talk to me about it?”

“It was just some stupid thing.” Greaseball huffed, wishing Electra would let it go. He was just being dumb, letting some old memory his mind had decided to embellish get to him so much. 

“Stupid enough to make you wake up screaming?” Electra pushed, not about to let this pass so easily. 

“Fine. It was a memory, alright?” Greaseball finally caved, his hands drifting down automatically to pet his belly in some unconscious search for comfort. “It started when I was on the examination block with the others of my batch, being evaluated for my adult frame by a buyer from U-Pac. And then when I was delivered to my new owner and some Big Boy decided to take issue with me.”

“Big Boy?” Electra was only vaguely familiar with the name, having been built long after the rein of steam had ended and the famous locomotives retired from their work. 

“Steamers with more bulk than brains. Picture a 600-ton steam engine.”

Electra made a disgusted face, though he was somewhat amazed that steamers once reached such enormous sizes. “And one. . . hurt you?”

“Not in real life. Just insults and stupid words.” Though yard fights between steamers and diesels hadn’t been uncommon, Greaseball had learned to be quick with his fists very early on in life. He had also rarely been without the support of other engines, for diesels almost always operated in groups. “In my dream, though. I. I was pregnant and he threatened the kits. Said I was nothing but a dumb breeder.”

Clearly it had been much more than that, to have bothered him so much, but Electra decided not to press any further. Instead, his hands joined his mate’s on the diesel’s large belly, feeling the kits shift inside. “I will never let anyone harm you or our young. No one will ever hurt them, not while I am here.”  
It was dumb and sappy, but honestly did make Greaseball feel better. He relaxed back into Electra’s embrace, trying to scrub the nightmare from his mind. It was already fading, having lost its power now that he was awake. 

“And I am offended that you think that I would take as my mate just “some dumb breeder.’” Electra added as an afterthought. “Didn’t I tell you last night? I would let no one less amazing than myself stand by my side.”

Greaseball rolled his eyes at the electric’s arrogance, but said nothing. Because it was reassuring, in a way, to know that he was valued for more than just how fertile he was. Even if he wasn’t the racing champion anymore. Though, hopefully, after having this litter he’d be able to get that title back. 

 

The following morning was lazy and slow. Electra awoke first, as he usually did, and watched the rising sun coming through the windows illuminate his sleeping mate. The surge of affection he felt, watching Greaseball sleep peacefully, was so intense it surprised even himself. The shining steel muscles of the diesel’s arms, the mussy black hair spread over the cushions of the nest, even the bit of drool dripping from his open mouth. Electra had nothing to do that day, it was a Saturday with no assigned trains, and he wanted to spend it doing something with his mate. 

Unfortunately, he knew that there probably wasn’t much Greaseball would be up for doing. No cruises on the rails, or visiting the stargazing hill, or dancing. The electric loved watching his mate grow, but it did put a damper on available activities. 

Running his fingers down the curve of Greaseball’s hip, Electra took a moment to appreciate the way the diesel’s pelvic girdle had widened under the heavy load he was carrying. It certainly gave his mate a very appealing shape, and gave the electric more ass to appreciate as well. Privately, he hoped Greaseball’s hips would stay this way after the kits were born. 

What wasn’t so appealing was the grit and grime that had started to accumulate on the diesel’s plating. It was obvious that Greaseball hadn’t been to the washracks in a little while. The exhaust from his engines put a fine layer of soot and dust over his plating, and the shine was gone from his armor. Between his thighs, lubricant and cum had dried in streaks against his black plating from the amount of . . .activity Greaseball had been participating in lately. 

“You. Need a bath.” Electra murmured, hand drifting down to caress his mate’s inner thigh. 

Greaseball groaned as he stirred, legs twitching at the intimate touch so close to his crotch. His body was responding quite eagerly, but it took his brain a little bit to catch up. “Diesel first.” He managed to get out, the pang of a low fuel tank overcoming the lust from his groin. 

“Right away.” Electra kissed his mate on the cheek and skated out for the fuel depot. By the time he returned a few minutes later, cans of diesel in hand, Greaseball had managed to sit up and was reclined against a pile of pillows talking softly to his belly. Apparently, the kits were awake as well, and acting up inside their carrier. 

“Love, love me do. You know I love you.” Greaseball had graduated from talking to singing, knowing how much the kits enjoyed his voice. Electra leaned on the partition around the berth area, afraid to make any noise lest he interrupt the little show. “I’ll always be true. So please, love me do.”

“I’m sure they will.” Electra offered, finally fully entering the room. He held out one of the cans of diesel, settling back into the nest as Greaseball gave a non-committal hum and downed the can. 

“I guess.” Greaseball crushed the first can and took the second, sipping at it a little slower. “I’ll have to feed them, and clean them, and train them.”

“We will.” Electra corrected. He has absolutely no intention of abandoning his mate after the kits were born. “And speaking of cleaning-“

Greaseball looked down at himself, realizing for the first time how long it had been since his last wash down. “Ugh. Yeah, I should probably head to the washrack.” Which would, of course, require getting up.

“Allow me to give you a hand.” Electra firmly grasped his mate’s hands and pulled the diesel to his wheels. The electric engine had already contacted Krupp, who had little work to do when his master had a day off, and sent the armaments truck to the engine washdown to clear it out. The space was nice and empty by the time the two engines got there, save for Krupp standing guard at the entrance. 

“This is a lot of fuss for just a shower.” Greaseball muttered, though he secretly did like the idea of getting the whole washrack to himself. It meant no stares, no dirty steamers, and no roughhousing from the gang. Just him, and Electra, and- “Wait, not gonna call the rest of your components in here?”

“No, they have been getting far too much time with you lately.” Electra sniffed. True, the electric almost never did his own detailing, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of giving his mate a wash and polish. “I want you all to myself today. Now then-“

Electra turned on one of the showerheads and directed Greaseball to stand beneath it. The water was warm, and Greaseball felt everything relax a little under the spray. And then it got even better when Electra fetched a stiff brush and began scrubbing at the seams of his back. His backstrut already ached so much from all the extra weight he was carrying, Greaseball couldn’t help a moan when Electra pressed his knuckles right into that knot of tension on his lower back. 

“My poor diesel.” Electra cooed, scrubbing the dust from his mate’s frame with one hand and using the other to massage his backstrut. Joule had mentioned to her master that Greaseball seemed to be having back trouble, no surprise considering the diesel’s size, and Electra was determined to make his mate feel all better. 

A real massage would have to wait until Greaseball was sitting down, though. He already had enough trouble staying standing. Electra crouched down, putting him about face level with Greaseball’s ass, and started lavishing his attention on his mate’s lower half. The raised white stripes and delicate seams there required a smaller brush, letting Electra really get to the dirt and dust there. 

Greaseball shuddered and edged his legs wider to give better access to his crotch so that Electra could wash away the lubricant and cum stains there. A twinge ran through his pelvic girdle, which had begun to ache more lately as the extra fifteen tons sitting over it forced his hips wider. According to Wrench it was necessary not only so he could carry the weight but so that his birth canal would be able to open wide enough for the kits, but Greaseball did hope his pelvic girdle would go back to normal after all this. 

“I love your legs.” Electra commented as he moved lower. Caressing the powerful calves and thighs that made Greaseball such strong, fast engine. That allowed him to support the weight of their young even while so far along. 

“Yeah? You a real leg-man?” Greaseball shifted one foot up onto the toestop, making his calf bulge and show off the power contained inside. If there was one thing the diesel was proud of, it was his muscles. Sure, he’d been accused of having more muscles than brains in the past, (well, to be honest, that was probably true), but there wasn’t any other engine Union Pacific had trusted to pull their best trains across the wide expanses of the United States. 

“I like every part of you.” Electra asserted, finishing with his mate’s feet and slowly standing back up. The hand with the sponge drifted around to scrub at Greaseball’s codpiece, which happened to be the electric’s other favored bit. 

Greaseball wasn’t fooled at all by Electra pretending to clean his crotch, and knew full well what the electric was going for with his teasing touches. The diesel pressurized his spike, letting out a moan when Electra wrapped a soap-covered hand around it. 

“I think this might be my favorite part, though.” Electra said with a grin, pumping his hand along the diesel’s length while using his other arm to help support his mate. The sponge lay forgotten on the floor.”Shame it’s so dirty.”

“You certainly weren’t complaining last night.” Greaseball shot back, rocking his hips into the electric’s tight embrace. The soap was just slick enough for Electra’s palm to slide easily over the ridges of his spike, and the electric engine grinned as he heard those big diesel motors inside his mate begin to rev up. 

“No, we shall have to do that again sometime.” Electra lowered his voice, leaning in to speak directly into Greaseball’s ear. “Like maybe. . . tonight.”

Greaseball shivered in anticipation, looking forward to the promise of getting a repeat of last night’s performance. For now, though, he concentrated on thrusting into the tight, wet heat of his partner’s hand. Greaseball pressed both hands against the wall, needing the support as Electra sped up his pace. The arm Electra had wrapped around his chest helped, sturdy and solid when everything else was beginning to lose coherency. 

“I’m. Gonna hold you to that promise.” Greaseball panted, trying to keep up the thread of conversation but having a hard time of it. 

“There’s nothing I’d like better.” Electra squeezed a little harder and was rewarded when Greaseball came with a yell. The shower, still pouring down over both their frames, washed the silver ejaculate down the drain and left only clear water behind. Oh, intimacy in the shower was so convenient. No clean up. 

After bending over to scoop up the dropped sponge, Electra led Greaseball over to a bench against the wall and eased him down to sit. Now the polish came out, to bring back the shine to his armor. 

“We’ll have to send you in for a repaint after the kits are born.” Electra commented as he dabbed polish on a clean cloth and started rubbing it into his mate’s plating. 

“Might be a little while ‘til I can fit back into my other form.” Greaseball ran a hand over the curve of his belly. It would probably take a while to lose all this extra weight, even after he gave birth. 

“Take all the time you want.” Electra would never tire of playing with all the extra bulk around his mate’s middle. 

The polishing continued until Greaseball shone, then Electra produced a familiar jar of oil. It was going to be a long, very nice day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the first Big Boys were manufactured in 1941. In this AU, Greaseball was manufactured in 1942. So they're both young punk assholes. (and yes, that is how Greaseball got his name.)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the filler chapter. Yay, backstory and angst?

Weeks pass slowly, though as Greaseball’s nesting urges strengthen he finds the idea of leaving his nest less and less appealing. When he is not busy looking after Parcel on the days when Buffy and Ashley work, he is often rearranging and mussing about with the materials of the nest. Electra had gone ahead and washed the material that was soiled, meaning it had to be re-integrated carefully with the older things. It was always a toss-up as to whether Electra and the components would be welcomed into the nest, or banned from it. 

Electra was smarting from being kicked out of the shed one morning as he returned from work and very cautiously made his way to the back of Greaseball’s stall. Audials perked for the sound of growling, the electric was instead pleased to hear a gentle purr instead. Good, that meant his mate was probably in a better mood. 

In fact, when he saw Electra, Greaseball practically pulled his mate down into the nest and began nuzzling against the electric’s chest. 

“Now then, what’s all this about?” Electra laughed lightly as Greaseball tugged blankets over them and fussed with the soft coverings. Seemingly satisfied, the diesel pressed his head into Electra’s chest and let out a contented sigh. The electric engine’s hand drifted down to its now customary place on his mate’s belly, but the kits were calm and still. 

“Need you.” Greaseball muttered, still embarrassed by the urges of his body even if he had stopped trying to resist them. 

“Really now,” Electra’s hand moved downward, towards the diesel’s codpiece, but to his disappointment his mate didn’t respond to his advances. Apparently, it wasn’t that kind of need.

“The nest needed. .. your smell.” Greaseball awkwardly tried to put words to what his body was telling him. Engines didn’t have a strong sense of smell, didn’t rely on it, but still the sheer lack of. . . Electra in the nest had bothered him all day. He needed something of the electric engine there. 

“I . .. see.” Electra wasn’t about to question it. He hated having to be gone all day, but the words of Control were law. He was needed for important runs, and with Greaseball’s due date still a month away the electric engine wouldn’t be getting time off for a while yet. “I wish I could be here with you all day.”

Greaseball hummed, burying his face a little further into the space under his mate’s chestbox. He wasn’t ever really left alone during the day. Usually at least one component hung around on any given day, then on weekdays he had Parcel and sometimes received visits from the gang or his friends, but it wasn’t the same as his mate. Worse was the fact he’d been having more and more trouble sleeping without Electra there. What rest he got without the electric engine at his side was fitful and plagued with the half dream- half memories that were becoming more frequent. 

The next morning, Greaseball awoke briefly when Electra left to report to the yards and fell back asleep soon afterward. At least, he tried to fall back asleep. His mind had other ideas. 

 

The locomotive works is a huge facility, expansive in the way that only railway structures can seem to manage. Greaseball is directed onto a side track, leading to an enormous building that looks no different from the rest, and the rolling door slides open for him. They are expecting him. 

Shifting to his mech form, Greaseball struts into the facility with confidence. One hand plays with the bunting draped around his neck, a symbol of his achievement. He is the World Racing Champion, the first American diesel to win it in history. Union Pacific and EMD are both very proud of him, his victory has cemented the E-unit as the ruler of passenger trains. It has been decided that his greatness needs to be passed on to future generations of diesels, hence why he is here. At a breeding shed. 

The facility doesn’t look that different from other locomotive works that Greaseball has been in, but a certain smell invades the space. Of oil, steel, and sex. It is divided into stalls with doors, separating the brood engines from eachother, but one stands open. The one he has sent to visit. 

Skating slowly inside, Greaseball flinches when the door closes behind him. It is clear what he will have to do to be let out again. 

The breeding engines do not look all that different from working diesels, save for the fact that they have been stripped of their thicker outer armor. This makes them seem smaller, more bare. Greaseball approaches the breeder he has been sent to impregnate, engine rumbling as he tries to psyche himself up for the task ahead, and in a moment of shock realizes that he recognizes the other diesel. 

“Crankcase?” 

“Greaseball?” The breeder’s eyes light up in recognition, reaching up to feel the celebratory bunting around the other diesel’s neck. “Is that really you? What’s all this?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Greaseball isn’t quite sure what to say. It’s been years since he’s seen another E6. Union Pacific had traded in their old E3 and E6 models to EMD in exchange for new E7s and E9s, Greaseball only escaping because he had been made Union Pacific’s new racing engine. “I’m the World Racing Champion.”

“Come a long way since our days together.” Crankcase is a booster unit, unable to work alone and always coupled to an a-unit to provide extra pulling power for trains. And his a-unit, for all the years he’d worked for the Union Pacific, had been Greaseball. “Turns out this is where you go when you’re traded in.”

“I see.” Of course, the now-obsolete diesels are used to breed the new generation. The switch from Steam to Diesel was nearly complete on every railway across the US, and the demand for diesels is stronger than ever. Though he feels maybe a little guilty for it, Greaseball is glad that he did not end up in this place. “How. How many have you-?”

“How many engines have I fucked? Or how many litters have I had?” Crankcase shrugs, “Just had litter, four I think? So this’ll be my last one, they only get five out of ya before they send ya off to the nurse-shed.”

“Oh.” Greaseball can’t think of anything more to say. To have had that many litters in the time since his trade-in, the other diesel must spend most of his time pregnant. At least that means he’s well taken care of. Still, Greaseball can’t imagine being stuck here himself.

“At least this time I’ll know the engine that breeds me.” Crankcase grinned wryly, reaching down to rub his hand against his old friend’s codpiece. “Just like old times.”

“Yeah.” Greaseball gives in and pressurizes his spike, leaning in to capture the other engine’s lips in a kiss. “Just like old times.”

 

 

It was Krupp’s turn on diesel-sitting duty, which, since Greaseball wasn’t awake yet, mostly involved sitting in the shed and idly polishing his guns. Still, his audials were perked for any noise or movement from the nest. They had all quickly learned that Greaseball could change moods on a dime, and it paid to keep a close ear on the diesel. 

The first sign of trouble was the subtle whirr of cooling fans starting up. Krupp glanced over at the nest, noticing Greaseball’s face pulling into a frown as he curled up a bit and his shoulders shook. Another nightmare, no doubt. 

Putting his polishing aside, Krupp got down into the nest and gently lay his hands on the diesel’s shoulders. Awkwardly rubbing the steel plating, trying to be comforting. Would it be best to try and wake him from the dream, or let him come out of it on his own?

The decision was taken from Krupp when Greaseball awoke with a loud gasp. His eyes went wide and he sat up, forcing Krupp to lean back when the diesel looked around in a state of disoriented panic. 

After a few moments of confusion, Greaseball remembered where he was. In his nest, inside his stall. Which should be a place of comfort. But he was still half in the memory of being at that breeding shed, of having to fuck kits into his old friend. Locomotive sheds looked so much alike, and suddenly Greaseball needed to be outside. Away from the grey steel walls in the dim, poorly lit space. 

Krupp was not expecting for Greaseball to awaken, obviously distressed, and immediately demand to be taken outside. He didn’t argue, though, just helped the diesel get to his feet and dutifully followed him out of the shed. 

Once he got outside the door of the shed and into the bright sunlight, Greaseball was finally able to take a deep breath and lean against the shed wall. Slowly, the real impact of the dream came over him. Though that had been his first breeding, it certainly hadn’t been the last. He’d been studded out multiple times since getting his Championship title, resulting in who knows how many kits. 

“Oh, Starlight.” Greaseball put a hand over his belly, pressing lightly until he could feel the shape of the kits inside. One of them shifted position, a little head moving under his palm. This was the first litter he’d carried himself, but not the first one he had sired. Not by far. “I have other kits.”

Krupp blinked at the statement, wondering just what that had to do with anything. “Pardon me?”

“They used to stud me out.” Greaseball elaborated, still focused on the unborn young inside him. Another of the kits had started moving, tiny hands pushing out against the walls of the gestation chamber. “Send me to breeding sheds to fuck their breeders. I’m not sure I even remember how many litters I sired, assuming they all took. Ten? More? Somewhere out there, I’ve got offspring.”

“And what do you intend to do with this information?” Krupp asked, wondering where this was leading. Surely, the diesel had realized this at some level long before now. 

“I. I dunno. Nothing, I guess.” He’d always known that his little sessions had resulted in kits. That was the whole point. But it had been so easy to put the real consequences out of mind, the real lives that must have been produced. Until the dream brought it back. Greaseball couldn’t help but think what it was like to have been one of those breeders, heavy with young, but with no partner to help them. 

Greaseball slide down the side of the shed until he was sitting on the ground, wrapping both arms around his middle. With a sigh, he leaned his head back to thunk against the shed wall behind him. There really wasn’t anything he could do. In a crowd of diesel engines, there wasn’t any way to pick out which were his. The only way to know would be to get hands on EMD’s record books, but there was no chance they’d release those just to satisfy some old diesel’s whims. What would he say anyway? Hi, I’m your sire. I fucked your carrier once and then left. You probably don’t even know your carrier because the breeding facility took you away as soon as you were born. 

Seeing just how much this was bothering the diesel, Krupp knelt down beside Greaseball and placed a hand on his shoulder. “There is nothing you can do about the past.” The armaments car said sternly. He reached up and removed his dark glasses, revealing pale eyes that were surprisingly kind as they met Greaseball’s gaze, “What you must do is focus on the ones you have now.”

Greaseball grumbled in acknowledgement, knowing Krupp was right. One of the armaments car’s strong hands began to rub soothing circles on his belly, reminding the diesel just what was important. The litter he carried now, not the ones he had sired in the years gone by.

“What the humans made you do is not your fault.” Krupp continued. He knew little of how diesel engines had been bred in the past, beyond what Greaseball had mentioned, but knew that nothing had been Greaseball’s choice. He had simply been following the instruction of his owners, as had hundreds of other diesels over the years. “You would have stayed, had it been your choice.”

Greaseball wasn’t entirely sure that was true, but liked to think that he would’ve stayed to raise them. Would’ve taken responsibility. That choice had been taken from him then, it wouldn’t now. 

He wanted to curl up, knees to his chest, but that was currently an impossibility. Instead, he had to settle for crossing his legs under him and letting the heavy weight of his belly rest in his lap. 

Krupp stayed there at his side for a bit, a silent but steady presence. The sun illuminated the side of the shed, warmth spreading through Greaseball’s frame as he relaxed against the shed wall. 

“Would you like to go back inside?” Krupp asked after about an hour of sitting outside. It seemed an unusual change of routine for the normally very broody diesel. 

“No.” Greaseball said after a moment’s consideration. His nest was nice, and some part deep inside him wanted to return to it, but at the same time it was beginning to be a little claustrophobic. A little too reminiscent of the breeding sheds of his dream. He’d go back inside later, right now the sun on his plating was too pleasant to pass up. 

Slowly, Greaseball shifted from sitting to lying down on his side. His back didn’t appreciate sitting up for so long, even with the shed to lean against, and lying down would expose more of his frame to the sun’s rays. He stretched out his legs comfortably behind him, twisting slightly so that he could rest his chin on his folded arms. 

Krupp shook his head with a hint of fondness as he watched his master’s mate fall into a light doze, stretched out in the sun like an overgrown cat. Greaseball’s engines purred happily, completing the image. 

 

There wasn’t much to do, but Krupp was good at sitting and watching quietly. He occasionally got up to make a run to the fuel depot, keeping Greaseball’s tanks topped off, and that was task enough to keep the armaments car busy. In the early afternoon, though, Krupp got a radio alert that a fight had broken out in the freight yard. 

“I have to go.” Krupp stood, waiting for a grumbled assent from Greaseball before skating out. 

With his caretaker gone, Greaseball hummed and stretched out his limbs. He was still too comfortable to get up, just shifting slightly before settling back down. It would probably be a futile effort to try and stand anyway. 

What Greaseball didn’t expect, though, was to get other visitors. He probably should’ve assumed someone would happen across him, since he was sitting outside, and really it was a surprise that no other rolling stock had come by before then. 

Fortunately for him, his visitor was Dinah. It was a rare day off for the dining car, and she had thought to drop by and see how her very pregnant friend was doing. Dinah had a short burst of panic, though, when she saw Greaseball lying on the ground outside his stall. 

“Oh my goodness, Greaseball?” Dinah dropped to her knees next to the diesel, who startled awake at her voice. “Are you alright? Did you fall down?”

“What, Dinah?” It takes Greaseball a moment to realize that the dining car is actually there in front of him and he’s not having another dream. “No, no. ‘m fine. Just enjoying the sun.”

“Oh!” Dinah laughed lightly at her silliness. He obviously wasn’t in pain, was in fact reclined in total relaxation, but the dining car had been so concerned for her own pregnant mate lately her protective instincts were on overdrive. “Of course. Well, how are you? You’ve got another month left, right?”

“Yeah, give or take.” Greaseball patted his belly. From his size, one would think he was about to pop any minute, but Wrench was adamant he had several weeks left. When he was lying there, warm in the early afternoon sunlight with the kits lazily shifting inside his womb, that didn’t seem so bad. At least, when they were inside him they were safe. “Guess I ain’t doing so bad.”

“That’s good.” Dinah reached over to pet his round tummy, letting out a delighted little gasp when she felt movement under her hand. CB wasn’t far enough along yet to feel movement from the twins, but she couldn’t wait to until her little caboose got to this point. “Wow, you’re so warm.”

“Ah, yeah.” Greaseball rested his head back on his arms, deciding to allow Dinah to continue rubbing his belly. It did feel good, even if part of him protested the touch from someone who was not his mate. 

After a few minutes, though, Dinah realized that Greaseball didn’t seem quite as fine as he had insisted. The years spent as his girlfriend made it easy for her to pick up on how unusually quiet, and contemplative he was. Greaseball didn’t often take the time to actually sit and think about stuff, which meant something was bothering him. 

“What’s wrong?” Dinah wasn’t about to let him sit around and be sad. “You’re bein’ real quiet today, Greasy.”

Greaseball grumbled. Of course, if anyone could pick up on the fact that he was still a bit worked up over that stupid dream, it’d be Dinah. Then again, she also wouldn’t judge him for it. She had been there, at his side, back in those days. Even if she didn’t know all the details. “Remember how they used to send me back to EMD after racing season?”

“Of course. For tune-ups, right?” Dinah had been a pooled dining car at the time, always going back to work somewhere after the season had wrapped up in early fall, but Greaseball had been retired from passenger service and always spent a short time at EMD before touring the country for promotional stuff. 

“Well, that.” Greaseball had gotten many modifications and upgrades over the years, and now produced a fair bit more than his original rated 2,000 horsepower. “But they also sent me to the breeding sheds. As a stud engine.”

“Oh.” Dinah’s eyes went wide as she realized just what that implied. That Greaseball had been used, for years, to breed young into brood engines for EMD. Which meant that- “So these little ones. They have older siblings, somewhere?”

“Yeah. They must.” Greaseball half-shrugged, trying to play it off like he didn’t care. “I mean, nothing I can do about it. It’s not like I can access the records of who went where. I don’t even know how many are still around.”

“Oh, Greaseball.” It was a little awkward, given their positions, but Dinah still managed to throw her arms around him and hug him tight. “I’m so sorry.”

That was, of course, how Electra found them. The electric skated up to the shed, looking between his mate lying on the ground and the dining car draped over him with concern. 

“I’m afraid you cannot have him back, darling.” Electra’s words were flippant, but there was an edge to his voice. Dinah was not necessarily unwelcome at Greaseball’s shed, but the diesel was –his- mate, not hers. 

“Oh, Electra.” With one last pat to Greaseball’s belly, Dinah got to her wheels and primly straightened out her skirt. Then, she took Electra’s hand and tugged him a short distance away. The electric engine nervously followed, very aware that the last time Dinah had gotten him alone she’d threatened to cut off his spike with a knife. 

There was none of that this time, though. Dinah just took his hands and smiled sincerely. “Please, take care of Greaseball and the little ones. They need you.”

Once again, Electra found himself caught speechless. Dinah skated away, and Electra slowly turned back to his mate. Who was still lying on the ground, staring at him.

“And what is this all about?” Electra knelt down beside his mate, looking the diesel over for whatever was wrong. “Why are you outside anyway? You should be in the nest. Come on, up now.”

Greaseball grumbled, but allowed himself to be pulled upright. “I wanted to lie in the sun. Is there something wrong with that?”

Wanted to lie in the sun, of course. Electra smiled fondly and pushed open the door to the shed. “I thought I left Krupp with you, did he really leave you sleeping on the ground?” He would have to have a word with that armament’s car. 

As Electra led his mate into the shed, he contacted Krupp over the internal connection he shared with all his components. The armaments car was apparently still caught up in some kind of scuffle in the freight yard, but he did share the experience of that morning with his master. And suddenly, Electra knew exactly what had prompted his mate to lie outside all day. Why the dining car had seemed so concerned. 

At another time, Electra would have to remember to be offended that so many people had so little faith in him and his ability to look after his mate and their offspring. For now, though, he would concentrate on what was in front of him. 

“We shall have to see if Wrench has any recommendations for nightmare remedies.” Electra commented as he helped Greaseball ease himself down into the nest. “If they’re going to bother you this much.”

“I’m fine.” Greaseball protested, leaning back against the soft, plush walls of his nest. The earlier unease he had felt about the space was nearly eliminated by the presence of his mate, which had all of his breeding instincts happily content. “They’re just dreams, it’s no big deal.”

“They’re a big deal when they chase you out of your own nest.” Electra argued, sitting down behind his mate and bringing out a now-familiar pot of oil. Best to talk about this while making his mate feel blissfully good. “Krupp says that you were used for breeding, and that bothers you?”

“Of course it fucking bothers me.” Greaseball growled, letting himself to be tugged into the electric engine’s lap. “What guarantee do I have that this litter will be any different? That they’ll get left with me? None of my others had any chance to know their parents. Hell, I never knew my own parents. I’ll never meet any of the kits I sired, how do I know I’ll be any good at raising these ones? I don’t know anything about kits, had nothing to do with any of my own.”

Electra watched as Greaseball worked himself up to a level of stress that was definitely not good for a pregnant engine. “Stop that.” The electric engine wrapped both arms around his mate, possessive and protective. “You shall be wonderful. As shall I. Could the two of us do any less than be incredible? I shall not be forced to leave you the way it happened in the past. No force on earth could make me abandon you are our young, not even the Starlight himself.”

Greaseball curled his lip at the ridiculous affirmations, but slowly he did relax into Electra’s arms. Finally acknowledging that he wouldn’t be doing this alone. That Electra and all the Components would continue to be here to help him. 

Suddenly, Greaseball groaned. “Oh, Starlight, they’ll be here in a month. We have a month before I go into labor and all that shit. Then, we’ll have four kits to look after.”

“I eagerly await the day.” Electra smiled at the thought. He dipped his fingers into the pot of oil he had opened earlier and began rubbing it into his mate’s belly. “Though, I will miss this very much.”

“What, me being big and fat? I won’t.” Greaseball looked forward to being able to race on the rails again. “Next time, you get to do this.”

“Next time?” Now there was a promise Electra could get behind. He regretted having to miss the first months of his mate’s pregnancy, watching his abdomen slowly swell with life. Being there for the kits’ first kicks. “Certainly not me. You look much better pregnant than I would.”

Greaseball snorted, relaxing back into his mate’s embrace. They’d have to see how raising one litter went before trying to have any more. Greaseball would do right by these ones, do everything that he couldn’t do for all the others. That he swore.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the short chapter, but needed to get it out. Have some CB for your troubles? -and an appearance from a certain Train God-

A few weeks didn’t seem like a long time in the grand scheme of things, but there was no denying that Parcel had grown significantly in the month since they’d found her. In fact, the little coachling was shooting up like a weed. Her fondness for treats already had her weaning herself from nursing, which was good news for Buffy and Ashley. Not so good news for Greaseball. 

As Parcel got more active and independent, Greaseball was slowing down. The drain of his own growing kits was only increasing, making the diesel want little more than to sleep all day and relax. Difficult to do when he was sharing his nest with a curious coachling. She at least hadn’t learned how to escape the nest yet, though that day was doubtless coming soon. 

What Greaseball didn’t expect was how Parcel intended to escape the nest. It was early afternoon when he was roused from his nap by excited chirping. He automatically looked around the nest for Parcel, but didn’t see her. Not good. The chirping continued, making Greaseball look up. There she was, clinging to the metal wall of his shed with the magnets in her hands and knees. Parcel had made it about halfway to the ceiling, but appeared to be content just hanging out where she was for a little while. 

Mouth agape, wondering just how she had managed that feat, Greaseball struggled to push himself to his knees. Nope, still couldn’t reach her. Not without standing. 

Cursing the components for not being around exactly when he needed them, Greaseball tried to figure out the best way to get himself to his wheels. Above him, Parcel was watching with a distinct expression of amusement. Well, at least someone was finding this funny. 

Laughter that was definitely –not- from Parcel drew Greaseball’s attention and he turned to see that someone had entered his shed. And it wasn’t one of the components. He’d really have to have a talk with them about leaving the door unlocked, because CB shouldn’t be able to just waltz in whenever he pleased. 

“Need a hand?” The caboose carefully stepped into the nest and plucked Parcel from the wall. Ignoring a growl from Greaseball at the sudden intrusion, CB set down the coachling into the blankets of the nest before stepping back out and onto the safer metal floor of the stall. No need to piss off the nesting diesel any more, funny as it was. 

“Thanks.” Greaseball bit out, reluctant to admit that it would have taken him quite a bit longer to accomplish the same task. “And what are you doing in here, anyway?”

“What, not allowed to visit my old buddy?” CB asked with a smirk. The real reason for his visit became clear, though, when he unspooled an extension cord and plugged himself into a nearby outlet before planting himself on the berth. “Nah, the caboose track is full. Some big freight movement happening or something. And one of ‘em took my outlet before kicking me out! Of my own damn caboose track.” He paused, leaning back on his hands and smiling broadly in a way that made Greaseball shudder. “It’s alright though. I cut that fucker’s brake lines before I left. Teach him a lesson.”

“You still do shit like that?” Greaseball raised an eyebrow even as he carefully lowered himself back down onto his side. Parcel had started making the high whining noise that indicated she wanted to be fed, and his legs were starting to hurt from kneeling anyway. 

CB shrugged carelessly. “It’s not like he’ll roll away, cutting the air line locks the brakes on. I did promise to stop wrecking trains, not to stop messing with assholes who deserve it.”

“What about when your little ones come? Gonna keep cutting brake lines then?”

That made the smile fade a little bit from the caboose’s face. Gently, almost unconsciously, one hand drifted to his middle. Several weeks had been enough time for CB’s belly to truly round out, evidence of the two passengers inside who are growing quickly. Still nowhere near as big as Greaseball, but the swell of the gestation chamber was unmistakable on CB’s skinny frame. Truthfully, Greaseball was surprised that CB had managed to be sneaky enough to cut someone’s brake lines. 

“Well, Dinah managed to talk Control into renovating an old shed for us.” CB shrugged one shoulder, “So I won’t have to fight with other cabooses for the caboose track anymore, and won’t have to teach anybody a lesson.”

That was probably a good thing. CB was unstable enough, flipping between friendly and deadly in the blink of an eye, without the added emotional strain of pregnancy. Greaseball had found the caboose’s two-sided nature incredibly useful when using him to wreck other racers, but the idea of him trying to nest out in the open of the freight yard while overly protective and defensive? Well, there probably wouldn’t be a freight yard left by the end of it. Better for him to have a private shed to squirrel away in. 

“So why aren’t you there now?” Not that Greaseball particularly minded company, gave him something to do, but CB wasn’t exactly his first choice for a conversation partner. He didn’t think the caboose would try to hurt him, or Parcel, (if nothing else, the big diesel engine was plenty strong enough to smash a wooden caboose), but that didn’t mean Greaseball trusted CB in any capacity. 

“Because they’re still repairing the damn thing.” CB curled his lip distastefully. He’d seen the old shed, roof falling in and puddles of rainwater on the floor, it wasn’t exactly a class 1 roundhouse. Certainly, it was no place for a beautiful dining car like Dinah. No, she was far too good for the structure. But, she had insisted that wherever CB ended up nesting, she would follow. Dinah was far too good for him. Too good for Greaseball too, honestly. “How the hell did you end up with Dinah, anyway?”

“What?” Greaseball, not privy to the inner workings of CB’s mind (thank Starlight), was surprised by the sudden subject change. “Why the hell do you want to know? I ain’t gonna try and steal her back if that’s what you’re asking. We had a good thing, but it’s over now.”

“Pfft, I doubt you even could.” CB waved a hand dismissively. Dinah had spoken to him a bit about the breakup, admitted that her relationship with Greaseball had always been rather unhealthy. Though Dinah still cared about Greaseball as a good friend, she wouldn’t go back to the diesel now. Especially since Electra was highly unlikely to give up his mate without a fight. “Just curious. You two raced together for years.”

“That’s how we met. Racing.” The years blended together after so long, but Greaseball would never forget that. “She was a pooled dining car in need of a partner for the race. I hadn’t won a championship yet, my usual partner was out with a wheelflat. Dinah races well, so we stuck together.”

CB hummed and nodded. That was about how he thought it had gone down. And Dinah had stuck with Greaseball because he was big, and handsome. Their first year together, Greaseball had won the World Championship and Dinah had been swept up in the popularity. 

Hopefully, now, the dining car knew she had something better. Not that CB thought he was much of a prize, an old wooden crummy with more than a few problems, but so far Dinah hadn’t complained. At least, CB could give his dining car something special. The caboose rubbed the gentle swell of his belly, and hoped once more that his kits would be little coaches.

 

Though Greaseball probably wouldn’t admit it, he was glad to have CB there to keep him company. The pregnant caboose registered as a non-threat to his protective instincts, and was helpful at capturing Parcel when the rambunctious little coachling decided to attempt a repeat of her earlier stunt. 

The other nice thing was that, nowadays, where CB was found Dinah often wasn’t far behind. It was early evening, about the time when Buffy normally came to collect Parcel, when the sound of a diesel horn was heard outside the shed. The courtesy knock on the door told Greaseball it wasn’t the buffet car, or at least she wasn’t alone, and he was proven right a moment later when Dinah entered along with the other food-service car. 

“Hey, CB.” Dinah was quick to go over and give her boyfriend a kiss, while Buffy fetched a squealing coachling from the blankets of the nest. “I heard from the freight you were in here. Keeping Greasy company?”

“Well, I’m not getting any smaller any time soon. Figured I should observe the master at work.” CB said with a smirk, looking over at the gravid engine still lying comfortably in his nest. Greaseball had shifted to allow Parcel to be removed, but couldn’t muster the energy to actually sit up. 

“If that’s a fat joke, I swear to Starlight caboose-“ Greaseball wagged a finger in CB’s direction, though he wasn’t particularly threatening when doing it from his prone position. 

“Stop teasing Greaseball,” Dinah gave CB a reproachful little smack to the shoulderbox, “Besides, I’m sure he’s very tired from looking after Parcel all day.”

“She’s getting to be a real handful.” Buffy agreed, grinning as she hefted Parcel up onto her hip. The coachling didn’t fit comfortably into the crook of her arm anymore, especially when she was wiggling about. 

“She’ll be standing soon, and then you’ll have ta find someone else to watch her.” Greaseball noted. “I ain’t gonna be chasing after a kit right now. Parcel already got herself halfway up the wall today.”

“Is that right?” Buffy looked down at her daughter proudly. Parcel just laughed, clinging onto the buffet car’s side with her magnets. “Wait ‘til Ash hears. That’s so great!”

“And it’s a good thing I was here.” CB bragged. “Otherwise she’d still be up there.”

“I’d have gotten her down.” Greaseball grumbled. 

“It’s alright, Greaseball,” Buffy bent down to pat his belly reassuringly. “I’m sure we can find someone else to look after her for a while. Wrench thinks Parcel will be mostly weaned in another week or two.”

“I’m sure Belle wouldn’t mind.” Dinah suggested. The old sleeping car would probably be happy to have something to do during the day.

“Great idea. I’ll go ask her.” Buffy skated out of the shed, “Hey, Oil! You still around, honey? I need a ride to the ashpile.”

Apparently Oil was still around, because they heard the rumble of a diesel engine and the blare of a horn before the two pulled out. 

“They grow so fast.” Dinah said fondly, watching the other coach go. She could hardly believe that Parcel had already been at the yard for a month, but at the same time the little coach had grown so much in that short time that it seemed she had been around much longer. 

“Well, just wait until these two get here.” CB reminded, patting his belly. Drawing his girlfriend’s attention back to where it should be, firmly on him. 

“Oh, I know.” Dinah moved to sit next to her caboose, rubbing his distended middle. “Between you and Greaseball, the yard is just going to be crawling with kits. I can’t wait!”

“Hopefully not literally.” Greaseball muttered. He could just see it now, him and Electra chasing after four kits skating about on stubby little legs. At least he’d be able to keep up with them, once he’d managed to shed all this weight. 

 

Of course, this theory was put to the test the next several days by Parcel. The coachling was little, and wasn’t really steady on her wheels yet, but boy was she fast. Greaseball would look away for just a moment and she would be gone. CB dropped in a few more times, always ready to capture Parcel on her way towards the door, though he sometimes was turned away by the components who were far more wary of him than Greaseball was. 

Finally, after another week, Parcel was considered sufficiently weaned to have someone else watch her during the days. That someone did indeed end up being Belle, who was only too happy to watch the little coach. The sleeping car had mothered more than a few coaches in her day, and promised to look after Parcel like one of her own. 

 

Greaseball had been concerned that boredom would take over, with two weeks still to go until his due date and now nothing to do with his days, but that was turning out to be an non-issue. He was just so exhausted all the time, there wasn’t time to be bored. The kits were growing more and more active, and stronger, which often robbed him of sleep at night. It had gotten to the point where Electra sometimes found himself having to get out of the nest and retreat to the berth if he wanted to get any sleep himself before work. 

Krupp became an almost permanent fixture in the shed, after Greaseball had complained about being left alone when he was near-immobile. However, it was still Electra’s pride and privilege to be the one to give his mate a sponge-bath in the evening. (Any embarrassment Greaseball felt about getting an actual sponge bath because he couldn’t get over to the washrack was over-ridden by how good the sex was after one of the little sessions.)

And, of course, besides the movement of the kits Greaseball was also being robbed of sleeps by his continuing dreams. Sometimes they were old memories, sometimes they were worries about the future. Dreams where the kits came out wrong, or were stolen from him as soon as they were born, or grew up and hated him. 

Greaseball spent one such day not just bothered by construction noise next door from human crews working on the shed extension, but also in a rather weepy mood because he was once again convinced that someone would take the kits. No matter what Krupp said to try and reassure him that no, the kits weren’t going anywhere. Look, they’re building a shed for them and everything. Sometimes, a moody pregnant engine just couldn’t be reasoned with. 

Finally, after the crews had left for the day and the noise of the equipment had stopped, Greaseball was able to fall into a fitful sleep. Krupp breathed a sigh of relief, and decided to catch a little himself. 

 

As Greaseball finds himself standing in an old Union Pacific yard of his youth, he knows this time, at least, that it is a dream. For one, the yard is empty and totally silent. Which never happened a day in the yard’s active life. There had always been something going on, fighting, racing, dancing. Now, though, not even a tumble weed blows by. 

Slowly, he skates through the yard. For once, the kits are silent and still in his belly, and Greaseball has the distant realization that his back doesn’t hurt for the first time in months. After a little while, though, the novelty of even that fades away. For a dream, this sure is a boring one. 

The blare of a diesel horn startles him, making Greaseball look down the tracks sharply. Before, the other engines in his dreams were always ones he knew. This one is completely unfamiliar, however. An EA, the original E-unit and predecessor to Greaseball’s own frametype. The younger E6 watches as the old engine pulls up to him and changes. Becoming a tall, gleaming diesel engine with eyes that shine like stars. 

“Starlight Express.” Greaseball whispers, knowing instinctively who this mysterious newcomer is. 

“Hello, my child.” The Starlight’s eyes crinkle in a smile, one that makes Greaseball feel oddly like he is facing his own sire. Ridiculous, he never knew his carrier or his sire. 

“You’re supposed to be a steamer.” Greaseball blurts, too surprised by the appearance of the magical engine to remember politeness. (Not that Greaseball had ever been polite, but this was supposed to be the ultimate railroad diety after all.) “That’s what all the steamers over the years say.”

The Starlight looks at him a little sadly. “I was once a steamer. But I am the father of all engines. Steam, electric, and diesel alike. I chose to come to you in a form familiar. The EA, originator of your frametype. I can be anything.” The god’s shape shimmered, as he morphed through several different forms in succession. An old electric engine, from when they ran with coupling rods, a streamlined steamer from the golden age, even the newest Shinkansen, before settled back into the form of an old diesel engine.

Greaseball snorts. “I always knew all those stories of ‘The Diesel’ were bullshit. Damn steamers.”

“I am sorry that my original children were so cruel.” The Starlight Express truly did regret that, for as much as he loves all his children he hates to see them fight they way they do. “Though they did not deserve their fate, turning on one another is not the answer.”

Greaseball shifts uncomfortably, wondering just what the point of all this was. Either his subconscious was seriously messed up, or the Starlight had some kind of reason to be here. The god of all trains didn’t just drop in at random to chat it up, surely.

“I see you are enjoying my gift.” The Starlight closes the gap between between them, large, warm hands coming to rest on the diesel’s round belly. A smile spreads across the god’s face, kind and fatherly. 

“Wha- gift?” Greaseball is too surprised to even bat the Starlight’s hands away. (God or not, nobody comes near his kits without permission.)

“You were only growing more miserable with time.” The Starlight said sadly. “Lashing out, hating everything. So cruel to that poor little steamer. I feared to lose you to that hatred. I hope now, you will learn love.”

Greaseball flushes bright red, though he can’t quite deny the god’s words. “You saying you made me pregnant so that I’d stop being a dick to everyone?”

“No, your electric mate made you pregnant. I simply, helped a little.” And there is the confusing, mysterious smile gods are known for. “These ones shall not be taken from you, you will be able to raise them to wonderful adult engines. Them, and your future litters.”

“Future litters?” Greaseball looks at the god sharply, but the other engine is already fading away. “Hang on, what do you mean future litters. I ain’t gonna get pregnant again, am I?”

“Goodbye, Greaseball.” The Starlight Express vanished, voice lingering for a moment before leaving only silence.

“Hang on, get back here! What do you mean, future litters?!” Greaseball yells at the sky, but no answer is forthcoming. “GODDAMMIT, ANSWER ME.”

 

In the shed, Krupp was abruptly brought awake by the sound of Greaseball jerking upright (well, as best he could anyway) and shouting at the ceiling of the shed. “You fucking bastard! You don’t get to say shit like that and then just leave! Get back here!”

The armaments car stared, before silently opening a connection to his master and sending the audio and visual footage to him. Electra could deal with this one.


	22. Chapter 22

Electra grumbled as, instead of going to bed one night, he polished up and called his components to him. It was incredibly unfair that Control had asked him and all of his components to go make a pick up, when Greaseball was so close to having the kits. Wrench estimated there was about a week left, which was far too little time for Electra. Really, that meant the kits could come at any time. A promise that this was the last run until he could take leave to stay with his pregnant mate didn’t make him feel much better. 

Wrench tried to reassure her master that things would be fine, they’d only be gone half the day, and really labor took quite a while anyway. If Greaseball wasn’t in pain now, then he certainly wouldn’t be having those little ones in the time before they came back. Electra still wouldn’t leave until they found someone to watch his pregnant mate. 

Greaseball woke up just long enough to mumble curiously at several of his gang joining him in his nest, before falling back to a comfortable sleep in a pile with four other rumbling diesel engines. Now satisfied that his mate would be looked after, Electra hitched on his components and left the yard. 

 

It was hours later, with the sun just peeking over the horizon, when something strange woke up Greaseball. Not the movement of the kits, who were shifting gently in his belly and seemed perfectly calm. The big diesel sniffed, smelling the familiar scent of diesel exhaust from the still-sleeping gang members as their engines idled. And, under it, something else. Smoke. From a wood fire. 

The still sleep-addled Greaseball wondered when the yard had gotten a wood-burning steamer, before a more rational part of his mind remembered that there were only coal-burners in this part of the country. So if it wasn’t some little logging engine, then what was-

Greaseball sat up, turning on his radio and scanning the local frequencies. What he heard chilled him. Fire in the yard. And not a small one either. So early in the morning, no one had noticed the smoke coming from an old shed, wood dried out to a tinderbox in the early summer heat, until it was truly a blaze. Now it was spreading, quickly making its way across the trainyard, and the humans weren’t having much luck stopping it. 

“Everyone, up!” Greaseball commanded loudly, startling awake the sleeping gang members curled around him. The black diesels looked at their leader in confusion, wondering why they were up when the world was still dark outside. 

“What’s up, boss? Need something?” Oil asked muzzily, shifting to his knees in case the older diesel needed fuel or crackers or some other whim. 

“Fire in the trainyard.” Now that really got the gang awake quickly. They all scrambled to their wheels, looking to their leader for instruction. “Gear, Oil, get to the freight yard. Grab as many cars as you can pull at once. Grab Piston if you see him. Gook, Lube, coach yard. Get all the cars, and head north out of the yard. Meet at the stargazing hill.”

“What about you, boss?” Lube stayed behind even as his brothers rushed out. The young diesel leaned down to pull Greaseball to his wheels, waiting until the older diesel was steady to let go. 

“I’ll meet you there. Now get out, go. If you see those steamers, tell them where we’re meeting.”

Lube hesitated a moment more before rushing out, Greaseball following behind at a much slower pace. 

Outside, the rising sun was obscured by thick, black smoke coming from the south end of the yard. Old buildings full of creosote-soaked ties and storage fueled the growing fire, mocking the attempts by the humans to put it out. Greaseball, true to his word, turned to head north out of the yard. His gang would be able to handle getting all the cars out of the yard, and no doubt Poppa and Rusty were already getting everyone gathered. Greaseball was pregnant, but not incapable. He’d just skate north out of the yard and join up with everyone else. 

Suddenly, Greaseball realized something and screeched to a halt. He wasn’t the only pregnant rolling stock in the yard. CB and Dinah had finally moved into their new shed, meaning they weren’t in the freight or coach yard. The gang might not remember them in the rush, and the two wouldn’t be fast enough to get out of the yard under their own power. 

Turning around, Greaseball headed south. The smoke got thicker, but the rails shone in front of him like twin ribbons of sliver. The diesel concentrated on them as his surroundings vanished into the haze, blowing his horn. Finally, he was rewarded by a response. 

“Greaseball!” CB’s bright red form became visible first, followed by the blue shape of Dinah at his side. The two cars were trying to head north, but the smoke made it almost impossible to see and neither of the pair had engines to power them. 

“What are you doing, Greaseball?” Dinah stared as the gravid engine turned to present his couplers to them. “You’re pregnant, you shouldn’t be pulling trains.”

“Shut up and hitch on.” No time to be nice now. “I’m still faster than you two, we gotta get you outta here.”

He had a good point. Dinah grabbed onto the diesel’s couplers, glancing back behind as CB hitched on behind. As soon as he felt the twin jerks of couplers connecting, Greaseball took off. It wasn’t nearly his racing stride, but the motions came back to him easily. Striking out with powerful, quick strokes that got the train moving down the rails. Dinah and CB, experienced racers, matched his pace easily as Greaseball began to gain speed. Fortunately, CB was not so big with his own pregnancy yet to be too restricted. The twins were squirming unhappily at the sudden jostling, and the caboose was sure his backstrut wouldn’t be thanking him for this later, but those were easy things to put out of mind in the face of an emergency. 

It wasn’t quite so easy for Greaseball. He had one hand on his belly for support, the other pumping hard in time with the strokes of his legs. The kits were kicking with distress, and Greaseball could only pray they’d be okay as he focused on the rails in front of him. The smoke wasn’t clearing, the fire catching up to them even as they raced down the rails. Greaseball cursed the timing of it all. If he’d still been in racing shape, they’d already be out of there. Instead, he was restricted to less than half his top speed due to the heavy weight of the little ones in his belly. He coughed loudly as smoke clogged his intakes, choking his engines and starving them of clean air.

The world around them was getting lighter, but it wasn’t due to the rising sun. The fire was moving faster than they were, lighting up the yard with its threatening red glow. Turning familiar features into hell-scapes, fire consuming buildings old and new alike without care. Greaseball didn’t spare a glance behind them as he tried to eek out even more speed from his burdened body. They would make it out of this, the Starlight himself wouldn’t visit him in the night if he was fated to die in a yard fire. 

With a deafening crack, a blazing telegraph pole slammed down onto the tracks in front of him. Dinah screamed, but Greaseball just bent his legs and leapt over it. The two cars behind were forced to follow, their combined tonnage hitting the tracks beyond with a wham that shook the yard. Greaseball felt something snap inside of him, like a fan belt breaking, but his twin diesel engines continued to roar. 

Behind him, Dinah happened to glance down and gasped at the sight of thick fluid and lubricant coating the diesel’s inner thighs. “Greaseball, your water broke!”

So that was what snapped. Greaseball grunted as he felt his muscles cramp up, like an iron band tightening around his middle, but there was no time to stop. He couldn’t lay down and push out the kits now, not with the world around him burning down. 

 

Electra was anxious and unhappy as he raced down the rails back towards the yard. He wanted to be back with his mate, in the nest, curled up against his mate’s belly to feel the little movements of their young. Really, was that too much to ask? Instead he’d been dragged out and robbed of a night’s sleep to take some dumb shipment to the next town over. 

Rounding a corner, Electra was forced to suddenly screech to a halt when the tracks ahead were blocked. Freight cars, coaches, and engines were all loitering next to the hill where Electra and Greaseball had gone stargazing months before, both in rolling stock and mech form. It seemed like the entire yard was out there. 

“What is going on?” Electra shifted to his mech form, components quick to follow, and stared at the gathered rolling stock. “I need to return to the trainyard!”

Everyone looked at each other, murmuring quietly, but no one cleared the tracks for him. A moment later, the crowds did part to allow Poppa McCoy through. The old steamer was solemn, a sad sympathy in his eyes. “No one can go near the yard. A fire started in one of the old storage sheds, consumed the entire south end of the yard. We can’t go back until the humans have put it out.”

Electra looked at the old steamer, wide-eyed, but a quick check of the radio proved Poppa correct. The yard was off limits to everyone, the fire had warped the rails and burned the ties across the yard. Until the fire was out and the smoke cleared, no one could go back in. 

“Where is Greaseball?” Electra kept a sharp eye out for yellow and black plating, but couldn’t see the diesel. “Where is my mate? Don’t tell me someone just left him in the shed!”

One of the black freight diesels burst from the crowd, falling to his knees in front of the electric. “I’m sorry, he said he’d meet us here! Boss ordered me to leave. He said he’d meet us here!”

“And you believed him?!” Electra exploded, sparks zapping between the strands of his mohawk. “He is pregnant! He can barely stand up on his own, and you trusted him to escape from the fire and make it here by himself?!”

Lube was actually crying now, terrified that he’d left his leader. His older brother. To die in the yard fire along with his soon-to-be little brothers. 

Fortunately, before Electra could fry the frightened diesel, the deep-throated blast of an air horn sounded from down the tracks and drew everyone’s attention. The blast came again, echoing off the hills and mountains until the air ran out. 

Greaseball barreled into the crowd, forcing trainfolk out of his way as he locked on his brakes and skidded to a halt. Dinah uncurled her stiff hands from his couplers as the diesel fell to his knees, clutching his belly and keening softly. 

“Out of my way!” Wrench pushed her way through the masses to kneel by Greaseball’s side. Electra and the other components were quick to follow, forming a protective circle around the diesel and forcing everyone else back. 

Dinah moved away to allow the electric at his mate’s side, going instead to wrap arms around her own boyfriend. CB was breathing harder than was normal, but still managed a shaky grin as he sank down onto the ground. “I think we’ll be okay.” The caboose had both hands on his belly, trying to calm the two unhappy passengers riding inside him. He didn’t need the attention, though, not when Greaseball was in so much worse shape. 

The big diesel's pants were more like sobs, contractions shaking his entire body with their intensity. The fluid dripping from his valve puddled in the dirt and grass below him, spurring his mate into action. Electra was still in panic mode, following the instructions of Wrench as she guided the laboring diesel from his knees to lie on his back and prepared for delivery. 

“We need something to cover the ground.” Wrench said loudly, using the commanding sort of voice that made rolling stock instinctively obey. 

“Uh, right.” Electra had his arms wrapped around Greaseball’s chest, supporting his mate as the diesel attempted to curl up around the mound of his belly. “Cover the ground, cover the ground.” For once, the electric’s quick processor wasn’t coming up with a solution. He was too concerned with the fact that his mate was in pain and he couldn’t do anything about it. 

His components, fortunately, had slightly clearer heads. Volta spotted a gondola car with a tarp stretched across their load and whipped the heavy canvas off the freight car, spreading it across the ground with Joule’s help. Krupp assisted his master in shifting Greaseball onto the tarp, Electra sitting with his legs spread so that Greaseball could lean back against him. The diesel was clearly exhausted, offering little resistance as he was handled. He just groaned, eyes shut tightly against the painful cramps gripping his body.

Wrench pushed Greaseball’s legs apart, getting a better look at his valve and cursing loudly. Because the diesel’s valve cover was already open, clear lubricant and gestation fluid oozing out onto the tarp, and the shape of a little helm was visible inside. The first was already crowning, stress speeding up the labor process. Another contraction hit Greaseball, making the diesel cry out hoarsely as his belly compressed to try and push the kits inside down and out. The helm in his valve moved visibly, sliding closer to the outside world. 

“I need water!” Wrench didn’t take her eyes off the emerging kit, trusting the other components to get what she needed as she reached forward to massage Greaseball’s inner thighs and hopefully encourage him to try and relax even a little bit. He was too tense, systems ramped up too high by fear and stress, making his muscles fight harder to force out the kits through a valve that wasn’t nearly dilated enough.

“You heard the lady!” Joule turned to look at the trainfolk watching, small body still intimidating as she put her hands on her hips and stared everyone down. “We need water! Now!”

“Here, take our tenders.” Poppa came forward, shrugging off his tender and holding it out. Rusty copied the older steamer, offering his own tender as well. Joule took both and hustled to set them next to Wrench. The crane car nodded to acknowledge the gift, opening a valve in the bottom of one tender to allow a little water to spill out and wash the dirt from her hands. 

“Rags. I need fabric of some kind, to clean them off and wrap them up.” Wrench was all business, going over a mental list of everything she would need. This wasn’t how she wanted this to happen at all. Greaseball was supposed to go into labor in a relaxed, private environment. In his nest, with plenty of blankets and towels and help on hand. Not out in the open, in the middle of nowhere with no supplies and all too many eyes watching. 

“’Ere. I got some freight blankets!” Flat-Top rushed up, fabric clenched in hand. They had been holding down a load on his deck, but this was more important. His cargo was scattered across the roadside, forgotten in all the excitement. The flatcar handed over the blankets to Wrench, who spread them out around her work area, and leaned in to try and catch a glimpse of what was going on. What Flat-Top saw was the round, goop-covered helm of the first kit pushing out of Greaseball’s valve, making the flatcar turn bright green and retreat quickly. 

“Come on, you can do it.” Electra encouraged, rubbing his mate’s chest and belly with big, soothing circles. Instructions from Wrench to keep the diesel calm had him suppressing his own terror to try and project comfort to his mate. “You’re doing so well. That first kit is almost here. Don’t give up.”

“I’m- gonna fucking kill you.” Greaseball got out through gritted teeth, tears running down his face as he dug his heels into the canvas under him. He didn’t have time to think of anything else, to focus on any actions or thoughts, other than the act of pushing with the insistent contractions of his gestation chamber. His valve burned, worse than the aftermath of any hard fuck, stretched wider than it ever had been in its life by the head of his firstborn. 

A hard push, and the head finally slipped free. The next forced the shoulders through, and suddenly Wrench had her hands full of squealing kit. 

“There we go, there we go.” Wrench’s voice dropped from commanding to soothing as she wrapped up the little kit in a blanket and offered the newborn up to one of the other components to take. Purse was quick to reach down and very gently take the kit securely into his arms. The little engine’s face was screwed up unhappily at being forced out into the world, but the squeals had faded into little whimpers as his tiny mouth opened and closed. Tasting air for the first time. 

“What should I do?” Purse asked, rubbing a thumb over the kit’s head, feeling the very fine black hair decorating his helm. Immediately, the kit turned and attempted to suck at the component’s finger, searching for oil or a teat to suckle. “Should he be fed?”

Wrench looked up at Greaseball, but it was clear that the diesel was in no shape to feed his firstborn. The diesel was already ramping up for the next one, contractions giving him no rest as the second kit moved into his birth canal. Both of his hands were gripping Electra’s hard enough to crush the movement servos, though the pain in his fingers didn’t show on the electric’s face. “No, clean him off with some water and hold on to him. He’ll have to wait to feed until his brothers are here.” 

Purse quickly obeyed, sitting cross-legged on the ground and cradling the first kit in his lap as he wetted a blanket using water from one of the tenders and began wiping the birth fluid from the tiny engine’s face. 

Kit number two came out a little faster than his brother, Greaseball’s valve now nice and stretched out and providing less resistance. Wrench pulled out another blanket, wrapping up the second of the litter and handing him up to Krupp to clean off. The armaments car sat next to Purse and diligently cleaned the newborn as carefully as he’d service any of his guns. 

By the time the third kit was in the birth canal, it was clear that Greaseball was completely exhausted. He was no longer coherent enough to talk, and only grunted even when asked direct questions. The diesel’s eyes wouldn’t focus, he was entirely absorbed by the contractions that weren’t lessoning in force one iota. 

“Someone get me some diesel.” Wrench snapped her fingers, and almost immediately had three of the gang members kneeling next to her with their fuel filler caps removed. Pulling out a length of hose, Wrench fed one end into Gear’s tank and handed the other end to Electra. “Here, suck on this til you taste diesel, then put it into Greaseball’s tank. We’ll do a direct transfusion, I don’t think he’s up to try and drink right now.”

Electra was quick to obey, coughing and sputtering as he sucked too eagerly and got a mouthful of diesel before getting the hose into Greaseball’s tank. The fuel definitely helped, giving Greaseball the extra burst of energy needed to push out his third kit into Wrench’s hands. 

“And here’s number three.” Wrench gave the kit to Volta, who couldn’t help but smile at the whining newborn. While the first two had clearly taken after their carrier, compact diesel bodies with sparse black hair, this one definitely looked more like his sire. There wasn’t much hair, but what the kit did have was bright red and standing on end, still slick with birth fluids. 

“Okay, Greaseball. Just one more. You can do it.” Wrench encouraged, though it didn’t seem like the diesel could even hear her anymore. He snorted, venting harshly as he followed the command of his body and pushed into the contraction. Wrench leaned down, trying to spot the final kit, and cursed loudly and colorfully. 

“What is it?” Electra wasn’t quite as panicked as he had been, encouraged by the safe arrival of three of his young, but vivid cussing from his repair truck was never a good sign. 

“Breech. The last one is breech. Didn’t have enough time to turn around head-down like the others.” Wrench could try and reach up inside and turn the kit around by hand, but the little one was coming too fast. No time, especially not with how tired Greaseball was. The diesel could barely offer resistance as Wrench shoved her hand up into his valve and managed to get a grip on the little legs of the kit trying to come out. A scream was ripped from Greaseball’s throat as Wrench –pulled-, tugging the stuck kit the rest of the way out with a wet pop.

Quickly, Wrench grabbed a damp blanket and wiped the birth fluid from the final newborn’s body. Checking for damage caused by his rather violent arrival. The body seemed fine, but the head. Still soft, yet to harden up, was a little misshapen. And the kit’s tiny ears appeared crushed. Time would tell if it would heal, or if the kit would require repairs in the future. 

Finally, mercifully, the intense pain in Greaseball’s body faded to a strut-deep ache. With a deep shuddering sigh, the diesel allowed himself to slip into the welcoming black of unconsciousness.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word about gender and rolling stock: There are three basic "sexes" amoungst trainfolk; engines, freight cars, and coaches. Engines and freight cars are usually "male", coaches "female." Obviously, there are some exceptions. (One of the reasons Electra and the Components are unusual is that there are several female freight cars.) The kits will be referred to as male here, because they are engines and are not old enough to voice a different preference. 
> 
> Also: Electra is generally accepted to be genderfluid, though I don't often see that fact utilized in fanworks. I thought I'd play with it here, hopefully it isn't too confusing.

Someone was humming. The sound was distant, but it managed to penetrate the darkness with a little beam of light. Greaseball groaned, feeling coming back into his body slowly. One by one, he could sense his fingers, and wheels, and fans. Everything hurt. The ache was deep in his struts, making his body feel twice as heavy. 

There was a squeaking sound, followed by the little pinch that told Greaseball someone was suckling at one of his teats. Was Electra trying to be sexy while he was unconscious? He’d punch that electric engine into next week, as soon as he could move without grunting in pain. 

The squeaking came again, making something inside Greaseball respond with a fierce –pull- towards the noise. He could feel it, deep in his gut, a need protect and comfort. Finally, Greaseball cracked open his bleary eyes and waited for his blurry vision to clear. He was in his shed, laying on his back in the warm blankets of his nest. The diesel shifted, propping himself up on his elbows with some effort. And what he saw, took his breath away. 

His huge, pregnant belly was gone. After months, he could see his toes again. And there, laying on the still squishy surface of his abdomen, were two impossibly tiny kits. 

“Oh.” Greaseball exhaled softly, bringing up a hand to stroke one of the little one’s hair. The kit squealed, leaning into the touch happily. He’d thought Parcel was small, but these two were just newborns. Round, fat little bodies with big helms and stubby little limbs. As he watched, one of the kits tried to crawl towards his chest. Barely coordinated movements, using magnets to get purchase on Greaseball’s plating. 

Carefully, Greaseball let himself sink back into the blankets so that he could put both hands on his little ones. The second kit mewled at his carrier’s touch, returning to the teat he had been suckling at. 

“You’re awake.” 

Greaseball tore his gaze from his young and looked up at the berth next to the nest. Krupp was sitting here, cradling something in his arms. The armaments car had removed his glasses, affection clear in his pale eyes, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. Then, when he shifted, Greaseball could see that it was another kit in the component’s lap. 

The diesel wanted to leap right out of his nest and snatch the kit from Krupp’s grasp, but the soreness of his body and the other two young laying on him curbed that desire. Fortunately, the armaments car sensed what was wrong and gently set down the little one he was cradling into the nest. Greaseball immediately scooped up kit number three in one large hand and deposited him next to the others atop his belly. That helped quell a lot of his protective instincts, but something was still missing. 

“Where’s-“ Greaseball coughed, a little shocked by the hoarseness of his voice. “Where’s the other one? There were four.” A little memory was coming back. The fire, the fear, the pain. Wrench cursing, something going wrong. All four had come out okay, right? He hadn’t lost one of them?

“Do not worry. Our master has the fourth.” Krupp reassured before Greaseball could work himself up into a panic. 

True to his word, Electra burst in a few seconds later, barely remembering to temper his excitement at seeing his mate conscious. Once again, Greaseball couldn’t help but stare. His mate looked . . . different. The hair of the electric’s wig was draped to one side, rather than standing on end, hips a little wider than normal and waist a little slimmer. He. .she? Electra’s chestbox had also been removed, to make room for a pair of plump breasts that obviously had resulted from an aux oiling system becoming active. The reason for that, at least, was clear, for Electra was nursing the final kit in her (their?) arms. 

“What-?” Greaseball’s brain wasn’t quite working fast enough to make sense of what was happening. How long had he been out?

“Do not fret. I told you when we met, I can switch and change.” Even Electra’s voice had changed, still recognizable but a little higher and softer in pitch. “We had refrained, so as not to confuse you while we were still courting, but you have been unconscious for a week. And with this little one to nurse, I couldn’t help myself.”

“A week? I’m out a week and you turned into a girl?” Greaseball sighed and decided to just go with it. “Why are you nursing them?” He knew his body was producing more than enough oil for all four, though he couldn’t deny that the sight of his mate with a bit of heft in the chest was rather attractive. Greaseball had always been attracted more to coaches than engines, and Electra’s femme shape was not unappealing at all. Though, honestly, Greaseball thought Electra was appealing no matter the electric's gender. 

“Because little Sparkplug here is an electric engine.” Electra sank down cross-legged in the nest, gently removing the kit from her chest and setting him with the others. “He has to nurse from another electric.”

“Sparkplug?” Greaseball questioned, unable to help a smile when the kit yawned widely and cuddled into his carrier’s side. 

“Because he is an electric, but came from a diesel.” Electra explained. “I didn’t name the others yet, was waiting for you to awaken, but it seemed appropriate for this little spark.”

“Diesel engines don’t have sparkplugs, idiot.” Greaseball rolled his eyes, but cradled the kit closer anyways. “Name can stay, though.”

Electra grumbled slightly, irked that she’d messed up the name. Probably a good thing that she hadn’t officially named the others, though her and the components had come up with plenty of ideas. “Well then. What do you suggest?”

Greaseball fell silent, contemplating the little kits lying atop him. The one that had been nursing released his teat with a yawn and nuzzled the soft surface of his carrier’s belly before falling asleep. In that moment, Greaseball felt as though he’d never loved anything more in his life. 

“So, we’ve got one electric-“ The big diesel nodded to indicate Sparkplug curled into his side, “And then these three-“ Two of the kits appeared to be diesels, dark in coloring with black hair. He could feel the rumble of tiny engines vibrating against his plating, purring softly in their sleep. The third, the one Krupp had been holding, seemed a little different. Dark reddish hair, brighter plating, hallmarks of an electric. 

“An electro-diesel.” Electra provided. She was very proud indeed, electro diesels were not common. They could take power from either overhead wires, a third rail, or using their own diesel engine, making them very versatile. “I had thought. Perhaps Tracer for a name?”

Greaseball grunted, but nodded his approval. “Good name.” The last two kits needed good, solid diesel names. “Then, here. How about Torque?” He nodded to the kit who had boldly crawled onto his chest. “And Camshaft?” The one still mouthing one of his teats even asleep. 

“They’re wonderful names.” Electra leaned down to kiss her mate, then joined him curled in the nest with their offspring nestled between them. “Sparkplug, Tracer, Torque, and Camshaft.” She stroked each of the kits in turn, receiving little chirps from the infants in acknowledgement of their sire’s touch. 

“They’re perfect,” Greaseball shifted to lay his head on his mate’s shoulder, garnering a few unhappy squeaks from the infants lying atop him. He could stay there all day, just watching them, but there were a few other questions he had. “You said I was out a week? What happened? Last thing I remember, the yard was on fire.”

“Yes. Remind me to be mad at you about that later.” Electra pursed her lips and frowned at her mate. “Running from the fire, on your own, while pulling two cars, while pregnant? Is one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done.”

“Hey now. I couldn’t let Dinah and CB just die in the fire.” Greaseball protested, though he couldn’t seem to manage actual anger. He knew it’d been stupid, he should’ve just called one of the gang over the radio, but at the time it had seemed like the best idea. “I- It didn’t hurt any of the kits, did it? I know I was supposed to go another week.”

“No, they’re all fine.” The kits had fortunately been developed enough that a week shy of their due date hadn’t really affected them at all. “Though, little Camshaft here had a bit of a tough arrival. Decided to come out the wrong way.”

Greaseball could vaguely remember that. Mostly the cursing from Wrench, and then the bright burst of pain that came before the utter blackness. He was glad his kit was okay. “How’d I get back here? The fire- what happened to the rest of the yard?”

“South end was a total loss.” Krupp offered. He, with the other components, had been assisting in the cleanup for the last week. There was very little left in the southern end of the trainyard besides some crumbling brick walls. Everything else had been burnt to a crisp. “Fortunately, most of the engine and coach sheds came out okay.”

“Still smells like smoke in here, though.” Electra wrinkled her nose. They hadn’t really had a chance to wash the blankets of the nest without bothering the kits. The little ones complained quite loudly if they were removed from their carrier for any length of time, especially the diesels. “We shall have to do something about that now that you’re awake.”

“Mmm. Not right now.” There was no chance Greaseball was going to be getting out of the nest any time soon. Even if the blankets did smell smoky. That didn’t matter to him. What did matter was that he had his mate, and his babies, and everyone was safe and healthy and okay. 

The rest of the components wandered in a little later, joining their master in the nest to play with the new kits. Followed a little later by the gang, crowding into the rear berth area mostly so that Lube could give Greaseball a very tearful apology for leaving him behind. Greaseball just waved it off and told them to stay a while, nestling into the blankets and (keeping a careful eye the entire time) allowed the young diesels to meet their new siblings. 

That evening, Greaseball nuzzled against Electra with their little ones cradled between them and fell into a happy sleep with his family gathered around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for this one, folks! Thank you for joining me on this wild ride, my first (But hopefully not last) explicit fanfic ever. 
> 
> There should be another work in this AU coming soon-ish, detailing some of the events that happen before/during/ and after Greased Lightning that didn't make it into the actual story.


End file.
